Fall from Grace
by Cant make up a good name
Summary: The Kingdom of Atlantis finds itself at the peak of its power and its young ruler, King Luke Castellan, seeks to further strengthen his kingdom while also increasing his control over his vassals. Not everyone is pleased with his actions and conflicts arise. How do the ensuing events affect new courtier Annabeth Chase and lowly peasant Percy Jackson? Rated T for language and content
1. Chapter 1

**Well, the Saints lost again yesterday making our record for the season an impressive 0-2. This calls for an official sob session and all faithful Who Dats are invited to join.**

**On a brighter note, I'm officially starting my very first multi-chapter story. I'm excited for this one because it will be a (somewhat) historical alternate universe. For as bad a band as Cold Play is, I'm actually quite fond of their song _Viva la Vida _which I'm guessing is based on the French Revolution. After listening to it, I figured that I was inspired enough to write this piece of work. In this world, the Age of Colonization is in full swing and monarchs are determined at tightening the reigns on their largely autonomous vassals. The story details the same attempts at centralization in the Kingdom of Atlantis and the many events that transpire because of these policies.**

**I have a good idea of where I want this story to go, so now it just depends on how I fill it. I plan to update as regularly as possible, but don't hold me to it. I don't want to make promises that I can't keep.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series or its characters. They are the creations of Rick Riordan.  
**

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"_For it is related in our records how once upon a time your State stayed the course of a mighty host, which, starting from a distant point in the Atlantic ocean, was insolently advancing to attack the whole of Europe, and Asia to boot. For the ocean there was at that time navigable; for in front of the mouth which you Greeks call, as you say, 'the pillars of Heracles', there lay an island which was larger than Libya and Asia together; and it was possible for the travelers of that time to cross from it to the other islands, and from the islands to the whole of the continent over against them which encompasses that veritable ocean. For all that we have here, lying within the mouth of which we speak, is evidently a haven having a narrow entrance; but that yonder is a real ocean, and the land surrounding it may most rightly be called, in the fullest and truest sense, a continent. Now in this island of Atlantis there existed a confederation of kings, of great and marvelous power, which held sway over all the island, and over many other islands also and parts of the continent."_

- Plato, 360 BC

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_Chapter 5: The Kingdom of Atlantis_

_The Kingdom of Atlantis, the northern Italic monarchical state and not the presumptive ancient empire from before the First Era, was founded approximately twelve centuries ago and can trace its roots back to the middle of the Second Era. Many understand this time period as the "Golden Age" of the Aegean region, when the many seafaring city-states of the Graeci dominated the trade routes of the Mediterraneo. While popular study often refers to this rich piece of the historical timeline, it is just that – a piece. While the Graeci expanded their overseas empires and celebrated their victories over the Orientals of Persia in a period marked by extensive advancements in science and the arts, interesting developments along the Italic peninsula laid the foundations for what would become the greatest empire known this side of the Fertile Crescent. Yes, even before the rise of the Hellenistic kingdoms that marked the end of the Second Era, important events were transpiring among the Italic peoples that would eventually lead them to prominence in the known world._

_ Most know the legend explaining the origins of the Latins; after all, who can forget the epic journey of Aeneas and the grand exodus of his followers from Troy? What story can be more fantastic than that of his supposed descendants Romulus and Remus, two orphans taken in by a she-wolf to suckle at her teat and be raised as part of her own litter? While the exact events pertaining to the trials of the Trojans are a subject of scholarly debate among experts on the First Era, it is generally accepted knowledge that the tales of Romulus' triumph over his brother Remus are that of fiction. No historian is sure about the exact establishment of the city of Rome, but theories abound. Regardless of how it was founded, scholars understand that Rome in its earliest existence was a small farming community ruled over by very wealthy, influential families._

_ In the midst of all the incredible eccentricities concerning the roots of the Latins, many often overlook a much more mysterious story of inception; it is sad that even with their preeminent status in the modern world, few know the stories concerning the Latins' cousins to the north. The myths and tales that define the beginnings of the Atlanteans are truly the stuff of legend. Some theorize that before the First Era, with its ancient kingdoms and their palace economies, there existed a super continent in the "mare magnum" that envelopes the west of the continent of Europa far beyond the Pillars of Heracles. This supercontinent, known as Atlantis, was believed to stretch the length of the Oceano Atlantico. Many proponents of this theory point to two curious island chains off the coast of Hispania as evidence, what the western Iberians dub as Madeira and the Açores._

_It is claimed through local legend that they were once part of a great island that was suddenly swallowed by the sea. This coincides with the writings on Atlantis from the Greek philosopher Plato, as proponents of the theory so love to point out. Most believe that these stories are just the remnants of the oral traditions left over from when the Graeci established their colonies along the coast of Hispania. If true however, the magnitude of such a catastrophe would surely contest with, if not supersede, the events that brought about the abrupt end of the great civilizations of the First Era; Mycenae and Aegyptus being two examples. Unfortunately, this is where the sad story of the Atlanteans begins. _

_According to legend, long before the sinking of their continent and longer still before the hunter-gatherers of Europa were able to establish civilizations of their own, the Atlanteans created a grand empire spanning over the entirety of the continent. The few who survived the events that ended their civilization fled to their colonies in Libya, but if Plato's accounts are to be believed, the ancient Atheniens had already driven the Atlanteans from the continent of Africa. With no holdings left and too few in number to retake the lands they had lost, the Atlantean refugees migrated north to Hispania and settled among the native Iberians._

_In the songs shared by those claiming to be their descendants, the Atlanteans were eventually banished by every people with whom they tried to find refuge and they slowly made their way east with every passing century. It is difficult to believe that the Atlanteans would be able to keep a strong sense of ethnic identity after so long a time and after living amongst so many different peoples, but their trials surely spurred them into grooming a tight-knit clan and this may be the precursor of the well-known Atlantean pride that we see today._

_Whether this story of Atlantean doom is generally accepted or not, we do know for a fact that around the middle of the Second Era, the Atlanteans made their way to the Italic coast where they started to settle among the local Liguri. After tense land disputes spilled over into open violence, the Atlanteans were expelled once again; however, this time they would be welcomed with open arms by their new hosts, the Etrusci. _

_The Etrusci were an advanced people who were greatly influenced by the classical Graeci. By exploiting the higher knowledge of the Hellenic kingdoms, they held numerous advantages over the surrounding communities and subsequently ruled over the center of the Italic peninsula with absolute authority. The reader may remember from their history lessons that the Latins, another influential Italic tribe, had once paid fealty to the Etrusci._

_The development of the Latins and Atlanteans differed greatly; while the Latins abhorred Etruscan rule and viewed them as tyrants, the Atlanteans viewed them as saviors and were delighted to be a subject people under the Etrusci, who even granted them the fertile plains surrounding the River Po. It is possible that the Atlanteans enjoyed preferential treatment from the Etrusci, as evidenced by the fact that any known Etruscan texts commenting on the matter normally recount the Atlanteans in a positive light. The Etruscans seemed to value the Atlanteans for their distinguishing physical traits. The Atlanteans are a tall and handsome people; their distinct fair hair, high cheekbones, and light eyes being the admiration of many a courter._

_The Atlanteans seem to think highly of their characteristics as well; it is commonly known that among the aristocracy, there are efforts to keep the blood "pure". This is ironic because while one will find the purest blood among the Atlantean elite, their customs are distinctly non-Atlantean. With the nobility adopting any number of changing styles that are viewed as the most "modern" of the time, one must observe the lives of the more mixed-blooded lower class in order find a rich and vibrant Atlantean culture. It is interesting that the pride of the nobility comes in the purity of their lineage, while the knaves concern themselves with carrying on the traditions of their forefathers; but if one looks at societies across Europa, the same conclusions can be made of all men._

_It is a fact that both societies were highly influenced by the Etrusci in one way or another, whether the Latins liked to acknowledge it or not, and we can see this through their knowledge of engineering sturdy roads and building complex systems of aqueducts. But, the Latins rejected all forms of Etruscan government and after rebelling against their overlords, established a representative system known as a republic. By contrast, the Atlanteans enthusiastically embraced Etruscan culture and created a strong, centralized oligarchical government presided over by the royal family. The animosities left over from this division can still be seen today in the form of intense rivalry between the Italic peoples of the north and south. It is important to note that the swift naturalization of the Atlanteans into Etruscan society along with the relative resistance to Germanic cultural influences after the Lombard invasion, accounts for their society's peculiar dialect and traditional customs when compared to other cultures dotting the north of the peninsula.  
_

_By constructing port cities along the mouth of the Po, the Atlanteans were able to quickly establish themselves as competent merchants and amassed significant wealth through trade. They were a middleman for the goods traveling between Hellenistic Graecia and the Italic Peninsula and as a result, were exposed to the many different cultures of the various traders docking their ships at port. With the later construction of the Via Flaminia, merchants could easily cross the Apennines on their way to Rome without having to board a trading vessel. This constant influx of new ideas led to a very open-minded and cosmopolitan culture as opposed to the stoic, conservative society of the mainly agrarian Latins._

_When the Latins began their conquest of the Italic Peninsula, the Atlanteans came to the aid of their Etruscan allies. After many years of bloody fighting, Rome and her Latin allies completed the destruction of Etruscan society and claimed the lands of Toscana. The Atlanteans, finding themselves without their longtime friends and growing increasingly politically isolated, formed an alliance with their neighbors to the north, the Veneti. This alliance was able to hold off Latin advances for some time and the Latins were only able to take the fortified port cities of the north once the Atlanteans were assured the full rights of citizenship in the growing Repubblica Romana. This initially uneasy cooperation between the militaristic Latins and entrepreneurial Atlanteans, laid the groundwork for the rise of an empire that would dominate the region for centuries to come._

_After the collapse of the Western Roman Empire brought about the end of the Third Era and the onset of the Age of Darkness, it is known that the Atlanteans were able to survive the ruin of the West by staying connected to the East. The newly formed Kingdom of Atlantis retreated behind its cities' walls, intent on insulating itself from the degradation of society._

_The old alliance between the Atlanteans and the Veneti remained relatively intact and even strengthened with the establishment of the coastal city of Venezia. The local population and migrating Roman refugees that founded Venezia looked to Atlantean prosperity as a model for their city, thus leading to the current Venetian oligarchy of powerful merchant families. The commonality between these two governments allowed for a powerful and mutually beneficial Atlanto-Venetian monopoly over the Oriental spice trade. Combined Atlantean and Venetian fleets can still be observed patrolling the trade routes of the eastern Mediterraneo.  
_

_This combination of wealth, security, and a link to civilization meant that the Atlanteans would become a powerful force among the weak and divided Italic city-states that were left in the wake of the empire's collapse. To this day, the Kingdom of Atlantis has played a major role in the region's politics and has kept the peninsula's city-states relatively independent of the larger nations surrounding them. In many ways, the Rebirth of Greco-Roman culture started within their cities as they never lost their cultural ties to the thriving Greek Byzantines and were well suited to lead the revitalization of the classical arts.  
_

_Aside from the Black Death that plagued the Continent only three centuries ago, it seems that the Fourth Era has indeed been kind to the Kingdom of Atlantis._

_As a people, the Atlanteans viewed themselves as the protectors of the fallen empire and everything it represented. __In an increasingly chaotic world_, they were the last remnants of order and stability brought about by civilization. As such, they took pride in recovering and revitalizing the grandeur that was the former empire. This sense of purpose, the introduction of civilization to uncivilized peoples, would eventually drive their interest in the colonization of the New World leading to one of the largest and wealthiest of overseas empires among the modern states. And now we find ourselves in the light of the Fourth Era with the proud and optimistic Atlanteans leading the way. The Gods only know what the future will bring, but through the careful study of history, modern communities can avoid repeating the mistakes of the past that led to the downfall of civilizations far greater than our own.

_Chapter 6: The Kingdom of Castilla_

_ The Kingdom of Castilla is an Iberian state that was founded –_

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Annabeth closed her book. She knew that if she read another line she would throw up; her eyes felt as if they would pop out of her head at any moment and she seemed to have lost her bearings from the worsening bout of dizziness. She looked to the cover of the large tome: _An Inquisitive Account of the Histories of the Various Peoples and States of the Western World by Lorenzo Ludovici._

It made for an interesting read, but Annabeth could not find herself to carry on, so instead she looked around to take in her surroundings. She was traveling by carriage to the Atlantean city of Ferrara, the current seat of the Atlantean court. She had been to the capital city many times as a small girl and it was beautiful to say the least.

Annabeth was born of an influential Atlantean merchant family and her father owned many homes, so she was able to travel to all the great cities of Italia in her youth. She spent her childhood studying among the best tutors the region had to offer, her favorite subjects being that of architecture and history. And as far as she was concerned, Ferrara had the best of both. The buildings in the city were extravagant, yet somehow retained a sort of elegance. She had been to such cities as Roma, Milano, and Venezia, but nothing they had to offer even compared to the cityscape of Ferrara. She couldn't wait to get there!

She had been excited beyond all belief when her father had told her that she would be attending the court of King Luke and all she could do to make the time fly by was read the texts her tutors had given her to study. Thankfully, her week long journey was coming close to its end. Annabeth drew the curtains apart and stared out the square looking hole to see rolling fields of wheat and other grains. It was near the harvest season, so she was sure that in each of the little cottages dotting the countryside, the farmers were preparing their horses and plows for the upcoming labor. The gentle rocking of the carriage traversing the cobblestone road made Annabeth's eyes heavy, and before she knew it darkness had overcome her vision as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

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**A/N: I apologize for the dry historical accounts presented at the beginning of the story. I wanted to give a detailed introduction to the setting of the story and this is all I could come up with. I was forced to depict the history of the world in the form of a school book. I know, boring right? Unfortunately, it had to be done, or else I'd feel that you guys would become confused with the setting and what's going on.**

**Obviously, Italian is the spoken language of the people in this setting, but Latin still is the official language of the established church of the time. In this universe, the original Greco-Roman pantheon of gods is still worshipped as Constantine never converted to Christianity. This religion eventually spreads throughout the continent just like Christianity in our universe. Also, since Christianity was never fully accepted by the majority of _Europa_, I had to refrain from using BC (before Christ) and AD (Anno Domini) in my dating. I instead settled for "Eras", time periods that coincide with the rise and fall of major civilizations.**

**One major deviation from history is, of course, that of the Atlanteans. While the Lombards were the major Germanic tribe to settle in northern Italy, they could not drive out the Atlanteans thus leading to a different north Italian culture all together. However, this doesn't mean that many northern Italians don't have Lombard blood. The German influence in Italy is still strong, as it is in the rest of _Europa_.**

**It must be noted that the book Annabeth was reading is an older book and _DOES NOT_ take into account the results of the Thirty Years' War which the Kingdom of Atlantis _will_ have been affected by. These effects will be the driving points of the story and will be explained in later chapters.**

**I know this must be confusing to some of you and again I apologize, so I will be happy to take any PM's concerning the history or various themes of the story. Ask me anything and I will send a reply to your various questions and concerns as soon as humanly possible.**

**I hope you guys liked the first chapter. Reviews are appreciated. Have a good week!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you _Innocence _and _Write-Dream-Fly _for the great reviews!**

_**Innocence**_**, in reply to your concerns, I have tried to be more careful with the size of my paragraphs. The introduction was supposed to be a scholarly work, so I imagined it containing long paragraphs. In my mind, I wrote it so that you would be reading what Annabeth was reading, leading to the chapter cut-off. I guess it didn't work out as originally intended.**

**And no, the characters in this story do not have dyslexia, however, Percy is a peasant and will be somewhat illiterate. Both Annabeth and Percy are ADHD and you will find some elements of that in this chapter.**

**In case anyone was confused as to the time period in which this is taking place, that's entirely my fault. This story is set during the Baroque Era, specifically the early 1640s. Think of it as _The Three Musketeers_ sort of place.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series or its characters.**

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"_I am indebted to my father for living, but to my teacher for living well_."

- Alexander the Great

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Annabeth bolted up, startled from her sleep by a sudden rapping on the front of the carriage. She groggily rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she tried to regain her bearings. From what she could tell, it was early morning and the day had just begun. Her suspicions were confirmed upon drawing the curtains; she squinted, trying to adjust her vision to the soft dawn light that flooded the carriage.

Annabeth looked off to the east, waiting for Apollo to announce his grand entrance to the stage with a brilliant flash of light. She loved to watch the sun rise and begin its journey across the crystal clear sky. It was amazing to her that an object could create so much light before it even broke the horizon; she thought about how little light her bedside candles produced in comparison and this only reaffirmed her adoration for the power of the gods.

A second rap on the front of the carriage drew her attention away from the view.

"Miss, are you awake?" the carriage driver asked.

"I am now" Annabeth replied, slightly annoyed. "What news do you have that requires waking me up at this hour?"

"We are approaching the city. I wanted to know if you wish to head straight for the Ivory Palace or go sightseeing through the central square. If you want to see the city undisturbed, this would be the best time as the streets tend to less crowded in the morning."

Annabeth thought about it for a moment. She knew that she would have to be at the palace for noon to meet her new tutor and get settled in. But when would she ever get a chance like this again? She had her very own carriage with which to comfortably view all the magnificent buildings that lay within the city walls. The choice was easy.

"Take me through the city before we head to the palace. But make sure we reach our destination at twelve noon. Someone's expecting me and I can't have them waiting." Annabeth tersely replied.

"Of course my lady! I assure you that I am the best at keeping appointments. Your father pays me well for my promptness."

Annabeth tried to stifle a laugh at the driver's apparent enthusiasm for escorting a kid so long a way. She had to admit though, he was very professional about it. He catered to all her needs and only interrupted her over urgent matters. This offer for a trip around the city was completely unnecessary, but she was grateful all the same. She knew what a pain it must have been to take her all this way and it would seem a tempting option to drop her off as soon as possible. She would indulge his true motivation by tipping him well for his kindness, a few gold coins to fill his purse. Annabeth sat back and relaxed into the plush cushions that covered the bench. She looked back to the sun, watching it in silence for the remainder of the trip.

* * *

Annabeth grew more and more excited with each passing minute. They had just come off the bridge and now the city's outer walls lay behind them. It would not be long before they reached the inner city.

The carriage wove through the winding, narrow cobblestone walkways of the outlying communities, a corner of the city Ferrarans referred to as the "Derelict's Quarter". The state of this section of the city was no short of old and decrepit. The medieval hamlets that housed the poor were often rundown and lined with the decaying remains of small, stoned buildings. The fragile constructions looked as if they could collapse with even a small gust of wind and Annabeth questioned the structural integrity of many a house in this neighborhood. She wondered how any of the occupants could ever feel safe sleeping in their beds at night.

The locals looked no healthier than their houses. Their gaunt faces and thin frames showed just how little food they ate. She wondered if some of them even ate at all.

Their hygiene was a matter of even more concern. A few were so filthy, that they looked well beyond a hot bath's remedy. Many of them wore dirty, ragged threads and a few children ran about in their birth suits. She watched in horror as an unlucky boy was doused in the waste of a woman emptying her chamber pot. The sight of the miserable lad made her sick to the stomach and she choked down a bit of bile.

She quickly diverted her eyes to the various paupers that occupied the street corners. The ragged beggars stood there haggling passersby for anything of value, but their targets were often just as impoverished as they, if not more so. One old man sat slumped near an alleyway, his blindness preventing him from ever seeing the faces of the sympathetic donors dropping coins into his worn-out hat.

Annabeth felt relieved when they finally exited the grey walls of the Derelict's Quarter. The sight of those people wore heavy on her and she was more than happy to see the bustling streets of the market district. She watched the commoners milling about the various shops and booths, buying their daily necessities and entertaining themselves with the stock of the many street vendors.

The excited furor of the area was intoxicating. She looked on as crafty merchants galvanized young maids with impressive selections of beautiful jewelry and enticed wealthy nobles with the allure of exotic spices and other strange novelties; these men proved that making a fortune through trade was as much an act of showmanship as it was being adept in bookkeeping. For example, she noticed a wine seller handing out goblets, encouraging gullible saps to get tipsy off his "free samples" knowing full well that a man is less prudent while intoxicated.

There was yet more to the market than just merchants and store clerks, though. Farmers were busy setting up small stands, preparing to sell any extra produce so they might buy something special for their wives; fishermen and hunters sat ready at their kiosks, keen on selling the morning's catch. Hardened men of all character spent their time examining the finely crafted weaponry of the local smithies, some of them trading war stories or discussing the politics of the day. Even the whores were out, trying to seduce lusty young men in an attempt to earn extra silver before their madams called on their services for the evening stint.

However, the liveliest establishments seemed to be the small taverns with their rowdy, spirited patrons causing a ruckus both during and after a drinking binge. Annabeth sincerely wondered as to who could drink so much alcohol this early in the morning.

After witnessing so much enjoyable activity, Annabeth found herself becoming very interested in the business of barter and retail. She might come down here and peruse the shops herself if she found any free time.

* * *

When the carriage finally broke free of the crowded market streets, they crossed through the gates of the inner city, home to Ferrara's elite. The change was easily noticeable to say the least. They were instantly greeted by a large network of wide, expansive boulevards marked by a sea of beautifully laid grey brick. To either side of every boulevard were magnificent superstructures of marble and gold, each one leaving its own unique mark on the overall grandeur of the city.

Every building, large or small, was built to the specific tastes of the owner and it seemed as though each one down the line tried to outdo the last in a glorious display of egos.

Annabeth could instantly identify which buildings were the oldest and which were newest. She started to categorize them by the artistic period in which they were built. She started with the older buildings of the Renaissance. The classic buildings may not have been as chic as their contemporaries, but that did not make them any less magnificent. The aesthetic tastes of the time manifested themselves in those great works of art and it seemed as if the structures wore their characteristics with an elderly man's pride; they stood there, tall and unwavering, as sentinels of the past, weathering through the hardships of time to guard the treasures of history. The buildings were marked by their acute sense of symmetry, brightly colored domes, and extensive use of Greco-Roman style columns and archways. Each one varied in size and ornateness, but the collective thinking of the age's architects was evident in the general style with which the buildings were constructed.

The newer buildings built upon what their aging counterparts had started. The current style of architecture, what Annabeth's tutors had termed "Baroque", applied the same rules of symmetry, but called for much more detail with the ornaments that adorned the buildings. The current way to design a building was to make it extravagant. Beautiful, gaudy, however the observer wished to label it, the point was to attract as much attention as possible. This was done through the intense use of relief to accentuate light contrast. All the while, great emphasis is put on the repetitive use of certain shapes and immaculate decoration; design of the exterior is dependent upon recognizable patterns and minute detail.

A successful architect knew how to balance himself on the fine line of boldness; his creation had to be flamboyant if he wished to bring any attention to it, but it could not be so flashy as to abandon that classy charm that so many admired. Annabeth had a burning desire to be among the best and she was more than happy to start her journey on the gilded streets of Ferrara.

When Annabeth found a building that caught her eye, she signaled for the driver to stop the carriage. She hastily produced her sketchbook and graphite, and started recreating the building on paper. Once she was sufficiently satisfied, she gave the driver permission to take her to the next building. This went on for the next few hours until the driver reminded an engrossed Annabeth that she had an important meeting at the palace and that they would have to leave immediately if they were to arrive on schedule.

They traveled past the impressive vistas of the high nobility and through the central square. The square was home to the headquarters of the various administrative bureaucracies, each ministry of the government having its own building from where the magistrates carried out all their daily assignments.

Annabeth noted the heavy presence of the City Guard in this area; one troop marched past her carriage and she could tell that they were ready to deal with any problem that might arise. They were well-armed; two men carried halberds and another two carried a sort of carbine called a musketoon, while their commander was armed with an officer's sabre and a pistol. The weapons were shorter adaptions to their cousins used by the Royal Army and she knew that they would be much easier to handle in the small confines of a crowded city street. These men obviously were deployed to pacify riots, but she did not figure this to be a place of extreme social unrest. However, she did understand that the kingdom must be prepared for anything.

* * *

When the carriage arrived at the Ivory Palace, Annabeth felt her eyes pop out of their sockets. The place could be described as nothing less than amazing. She had listened to her tutors tell her of the palace; it was built with marble so pure, so clean, that when the sun graced it with natural light, it shined white with the brilliance of polished ivory.

As the location of the King's Court, this building was the center of Atlantean politics and a symbol of the heart of the kingdom; its creator obviously wanted to leave a lasting impression. It was a wide, rectangular building with five rows of windows spanning the length of the front side; the roof's initially low slope abruptly became steeper towards the center of the building, almost as with a cathedral. Half-columns were sculpted into the wall to frame the different sections of the building in a very novel way. Near the top, reliefs of great battles were carved into the marble. The figures were so well crafted they looked as if they really were waging war on top of the building.

The palace itself wasn't the only fine piece of work to behold; a great courtyard greeted the carriage before it pulled up at the front steps. The front yard consisted of a broad paved walkway framed with a magnificent garden on either side. Colorful flowers like tulips, lilacs, and rosebushes dotted the lawn in a stunning display of color. Here and there, an olive tree stood its ground and provided shade to its section of the lawn. All of this was supported by thick base of well-kept, green grass.

In the center of the yard, by the front of the palace, there sat a large circular reflecting pool enclosing a tall, pedestaled statue. The statue was of an imposing man, grim faced and clad full in battle armor, pointing south towards Roma. The figure alone must have been eight feet tall and when standing on the massive marble pedestal, it became a giant among men. The notorious figure was of course Thulcer Carthanai, the founder of Atlantis.

Annabeth did not notice herself get out of the carriage, she did not notice the servant girls take her things into the palace, she did not even notice her own breath hitch; she was so engrossed in the beauty of the area that time just seemed to stop.

Far too quickly, she was brought from her reverie by a high pitched whistle. Annabeth looked over and saw her driver pointing at his pocket watch. She instinctively pulled out her own and checked the time. _Seven to twelve._ She suddenly remembered her meeting and ran over to thank her driver, making sure to tip him extra well for the day's activities. At that moment, the head of staff came out and briskly escorted her into the palace.

* * *

Annabeth opened a large set of double doors and saw two men conversing; one was sitting in a chair and the other was standing around holding a rucksack. She guessed that the man standing in the center was a courier of sorts, so she had to believe that the one in the chair was her tutor. The sitting man, an older gentleman, saw her and smiled, hastily waving the courier away. He beckoned her over and she obeyed.

"You are late" the man said.

Annabeth cautiously looked at her pocket watch and replied with uncertainty. "But I arrived when the clock stuck twelve. Is that not when you asked to see me?"

The man replied with his same sweet smile, "Yes, I asked to see you then. You arrived at twelve exactly and that makes you late."

Annabeth was as confused as ever. "With all due respect, Mr. –"

"You may address me by my given name, Chiron."

Annabeth slowly began, "With all due respect, _Chiron_, how does that make me late?

Chiron continued to give Annabeth his comforting smile. "At court, time works differently than outside the palace walls. If you know you have an appointment and do not prepare to be five minutes early, then may as well be five minutes late"

Annabeth shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling quite embarrassed with herself.

He continued, "Take that man for example; you do not know what we discussed because you were not present to hear us. We may have been plotting your death, but you will never know because you arrived just as he left."

This caught Annabeth by surprise and Chiron now had her full attention. He still gave his warm smile, but Annabeth no longer saw him as the sweet old man that had first waved her over.

Chiron, seeming amused at the horror-struck look on Annabeth's face, attempted to assure her that he meant no harm. "Child, do not worry. I am not here to end your life, but rather to preserve it. Court is the most dangerous place a young woman can find herself. Your father knows this and made certain that I be your guardian."

Annabeth, being suddenly concerned for her own safety, timidly asked, "How could court be dangerous?"

Chiron, for the first time, let his smile slip and for once wore a serious expression. "Child, there are many powerful and ambitious men that walk these halls. They are concerned only with their agendas and wouldn't think twice about killing any who get in their way. I am here to teach you the ways of the courtier, to develop in you the instincts of identifying friend from foe. If you have any hope of returning to your father, you must be prepared to do things that you will later regret; your actions must be of a Machiavellian nature and your decisions cold and calculating. You will be vague to any person you are not familiar with and I expect your replies to be politic when addressed by those who would wish to do you harm. Remember, the art of pandering is not degrading; it is the only thing ensuring your survival, the only thing helping your chances of living long enough to see the sun rise in the morning."

He continued, "You must take these lessons seriously, and that starts with being early. You must give your all and more if you wish to stay ahead of the competition. If a magistrate asks you to balance the monthly budget, you will give him a budget sufficient for the year to come. If a maid asks you to clean a room, you will clean the entire hall; if the king asks you to wipe his bottom, you will have already wiped it. This is how you catch the eye of potential allies and expand your influence among the powers that be."

At this point, Chiron's lengthy speech was lulling Annabeth to sleep. She decided to keep her mind active by sizing him up. He was balding and his face was covered by a scruffy beard. Dark, bushy eyebrows sat atop a pair of intense eyes that revealed the wisdom of a man who had seen many things in his lifetime.

Annabeth's gaze dropped to his odd-looking chair; his legs and much of the chair were covered under a thick blanket. She noticed two circular bulges protruding from both sides of the chair. She realized, to her surprise, that they were large wheels!

"You're a cripple." Annabeth stated before she realized what she had said. She quickly put her hands up to cover her mouth, but it was too late to take back what had already been said.

This stopped Chiron mid-sentence and he gave her a curious look. Deeply ashamed and face turning scarlet, Annabeth tried to apologize. "I'm so sorry, please forgive me. I should never have been so rude."

Chiron let out a hearty laugh, much to the embarrassment of the trembling Annabeth.

Chiron smiled saying, "Child, there is nothing to forgive; no harm has been done. I understand that I am physically impaired and I accept it. The gods are unpredictable in the ways they affect our lives, and so, we must all put to use what we are given."

He added, "I am impressed at your perceptiveness, it will serve you well at court. However, I advise that you work on keeping your findings to yourself, both out of respect of other men's feelings and your own head." He made his point by tapping his outstretched fingers across the back of his neck.

Annebeth felt her hand snaking up to feel her own neck in a subconscious attempt to see if it was still there.

Chiron tucked his loose blanket under his legs and rolled his way over to her.

He asked her with all seriousness, "Did you bring a personal weapon?"

Annabeth shook her head. She was grossly unprepared for life at court.

Chiron produced a small blade from a sheath hidden in the side of his chair. "You may have mine. Think of it as a gift from master to pupil."

Annabeth took the knife and examined it. It was a beautiful bronze dagger with a hilt wrapped in cured leather. Annabeth had used daggers before, but never had one felt so right to hold; the balance was good and she felt as if she could take on anyone who threatened her.

Chiron gave her the matching leather sheath. "You will practice with it every day and you will always have it on your person, discreetly of course. Keep it strapped to your ankle underneath your blouse. And be careful with it, it is not a toy; it may very well become the only thing standing between you and certain death."

Annabeth thanked Chiron, her eyes never leaving her new weapon.

Chiron smiled and turned to leave. "Come, there is much work to be done. I'll show you around the palace and then we'll get your stuff unpacked. Your lessons begin tomorrow morning at six sharp... and don't be _late._"

Annabeth smirked at her tutor and followed him out of the room. She figured that her time here might not be so bad, that is, as long as she managed stay out of trouble.

* * *

**A/N****: I hope you guys liked it. I apologize if this story is developing too slowly, but I view it as a work of art. Nothing ever came out good by rushing it.**

**And don't worry, Percy makes his big debut in the next chapter.**

**Remember, I like to hear your thoughts and critique. Reviews are encouraged. Thank you all for the support and have a nice week!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Percy Jackson series or its characters. They are the creations of Rick Riordan.**

* * *

_"Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment."_

- Gautama Buddha

* * *

The autumn air was cool with a light breeze cutting across the Greek countryside. The sun had risen above the horizon only an hour before and now sat hovering in the sky, bathing the Aegean in its soft morning light. The coastal plain seemed to come alive with golden waves rippling across expansive fields of wheat and barley.

The country was beautiful, but quiet; so quiet in fact, that one would think there was not a soul left in all of Greece. For the young farmer standing at the edge of the sea, that might as well have been the case.

Percy Jackson stood at the edge of a cliff face staring out at the Aegean. The ocean breeze licked at his hair and the smell of salt tingled his nose. He tried to clear his mind and concentrate on the world around him. He could hear every faint sound, from the crashing of waves on the rock below to the cawing of gulls in the distance. Percy closed his eyes and took in a huge breath of fresh air. He loved being near the sea and would come to this spot every morning to fill his lungs with new life.

The wonderful moment of tranquility was cut short by an aggravated whinny. Percy turned to the source of the noise and saw his companion, Blackjack, tugging at his reins. Percy mused over the equestrian's sudden energy. The large, ebony horse seemed more excited about getting to work than Percy would ever be.

"Okay Blackjack, settle down. Let's dust the fields and then I'll grab you a sugar cube."

The horse seemed to calm at the mention of sugar and Percy rolled his eyes, effectively entertained by Blackjack's predictability. Percy led Blackjack to the nearest field, a piece of property that he used to grow barley. Blackjack pawed at the ground as Percy disconnected him from the wooden cart and relieved him of his burdens.

Percy then grabbed a chest and a wooden scoop from the cart. When Percy opened the chest, a faint, but familiar aroma seized his senses and caused him a slight feeling of light-headedness. The smell of sulfur always had that effect on him and he hated it.

Percy quickly tied a folded cloth over his face to cover his mouth and nose. He grabbed the scoop and filled it with the contents of the chest. With great effort, Percy summoned all of his strength and flung the yellow powder as high in the air as he could manage. He watched as the breeze dispersed the cloud of sulfur, covering as much of the field as possible.

It was important to cover every inch of crop with the stuff, lest the pesticide should fail to kill any troublesome vermin that would otherwise go on to destroy a man's livelihood. Percy threw a few more scoops into the air and moved on to the next field.

* * *

The sun had passed well beyond its zenith by the time Percy had completely dusted his fields. He was tired and his arms throbbed with a dull ache. Sweat rolled off his back in streams causing his wool clothing to stick to his skin.

"Zeus be damned, I'm blessed with too much land for one man to tend," Percy muttered. "I'm gonna have to hire a helper for the harvest."

Percy sighed in relief when he spotted his cottage sitting at the crest of the next hill. He summoned the last of his strength and briskly led Blackjack to the stables.

When Percy reached the stables, he locked Blackjack in the pen and fed him a few cubes of sugar. Blackjack grunted in approval and proceeded to chew the sweet morsels. Percy stroked his horse's nose and watched as Blackjack happily munched on his reward.

"You did good, buddy."

It seemed as though Blackjack failed to hear Percy's praise as he was too busy licking up whatever fell to the ground. Percy shrugged it off and left to go put his tools in the shed.

While Percy was getting everything in order, a certain gleaming object caught his eye. An old bronze sword hung from the wall, proudly sitting above the arms rack and reflecting whatever light filled the shed.

Percy revered the sword and took great pride in keeping it battle-ready. The sword, "Anaklusmos" his mother called it, never left his side when his lord called the people to arms. "_Use this modern weapon,_" his quartermaster would tell him. Percy always refused; he personally sharpened his sword and would trust his life with no other blade in battle.

The ancient thing was an heirloom of his family's and all that he had left of his late father. Percy never knew the man and could never get a clear answer from his mother as to who the guy was. Whenever he asked her about it, she would gaze off into the distance and give him vague descriptions.

As far as Percy knew, they never even met. He did have a faint memory of a warm presence, but it could just be his imagination. Percy knew that any hope of him ever having a memory of his father was just that – a hope. It hurt more than he would like to admit, and so, Percy clung to anything that was associated with his father.

Percy sighed in contempt, an empty feeling washing over him. Looking at the sword also brought back the frustration he felt of not knowing his father. He always got this way when thinking about the man and it aggravated him to no end. Apparently, he was killed in action during a summer campaign many years ago, leaving Percy's mother to take care of their child alone. Percy didn't know why, but he sometimes ended up hating his father for dying. Even though it may not have been the guy's fault, Percy just couldn't find anything else to blame; and the damned emptiness just wouldn't go away. Why did that man leave them?

Percy impulsively walked over to the sword and grabbed it from the wall. His breath was heavy and his knuckles were white from gripping the hilt so tightly. He swung the sword, screaming in fury as he vented all of his bottled anger. He swiped, slashed, and hacked at nothing in particular.

He didn't know why he was acting this way, it just felt like it was the only thing he could do to keep himself from falling apart. He swung, and the more he swung, the angrier he got; the angrier he got, the harder he swung. This continued until Percy finally lost his concentration. He planted his foot wrong and, standing off-balance, swung himself into the dirt.

Percy lay on the ground in a crumpled heap with sweat pouring off his face as he gasped for air. During his little episode, he had completely forgotten just how sore the morning's labor had left him. He groaned at his stupidity as the pain came rushing back to remind him. Percy picked himself up and put the sword back on its hanger. He exited the shed and hurried back to his cottage.

* * *

When Percy arrived at the cottage, his spirits lifted and all of his anger was forgotten as he laid eyes on the most important person in his life. His mother, Sally Jackson, was diligently pruning the olive trees. She noticed Percy's arrival and sent a warm smile his way. Almost instantly, Percy's stress washed away and he no longer felt sore or tired. She seemed to have that effect on him. Since before Percy could remember, no matter what sort of mood he was in, his mother was always able to calm him.

Sally Jackson was a kind woman with a positive view of life. No matter how hard things got for her, she never complained and she never put the blame on others. Being a woman was hard, but to be a single mother was unimaginable. And yet, Percy couldn't remember a time when she was ever in a bad mood or had said an unkind word to another soul. She always seemed happy and it showed through her bright blue eyes, eyes that never held the same color when introduced to the light. The gay aura she emanated was intoxicating, filling the atmosphere with affectionate warmth that Percy never hesitated in soaking up. Percy wished that he had her strength and he didn't know what he would do if he ever lost her. Frankly, he didn't even want to think about it.

Percy smiled back and eagerly ran over to help. Being at home with his mother was the best part of Percy's day and he never missed a chance at spending time with her.

"Need some help?" Percy asked. Not waiting for an answer, Percy grabbed a pair of shears and set to work cutting dead leaves.

"Thank you Percy. You aren't worn out from working the fields?" she asked, concerned.

"Nah. Besides, these olive trees are way too important to skip out on."

It was true; the orchard, with its rows of olive trees, was the pride of the Jackson property. Even though the trees only bore fruit every two years, the harvest was so profitable that it covered the entirety of the property's operating expenses. This crop would be ready to harvest next autumn and Percy prayed every night to Demeter for her protection.

The olives were a remnant of what Percy's father had left behind and their cultivation was the heart of his prosperity, the sole reason he and his mother were able to keep their independence. Gods forbid that they should lose everything and be forced to tend a high lord's land as his serfs. Whenever Percy saw the condition of the poor wretches that worked one of the many manors, he was reminded of just how lucky he was. They struggled to deal with how much they could afford to eat, while the worst Percy had to worry about was how much he could afford to expand. No matter how much animosity Percy sometimes felt for his father, he had to give the man his due. At least he left them with the ability to take care of themselves.

"That's good for tonight. I can get the last row tomorrow."

Percy never realized how dark it had gotten until his mother broke the silence.

"Are you sure? I can finish up if you want," he offered.

"There's not enough light. Come on, the food's already prepared. Let's go eat."

Percy couldn't argue with that as he felt his stomach suddenly grumble at the mention of food. He and his mother gathered their things and headed to the well to wash up for supper.

* * *

The next morning, Percy woke up feeling stiff as a board and worked hopelessly to rid himself of the horrible crick ailing his neck. He looked to his sleeping mat, a few stacks of hay, as the source of his suffering. A nice, new mattress was in order, Percy figured. He looked around his small cottage trying to find his mother. She must have been outside because otherwise Percy would have seen her.

The dwelling only had two rooms and a storage cellar, with no windows to speak of. The main room had a table, the spit, and some spice racks. The other room was the master sleeping quarters which had the only bed in the home. Needless to say, the place was small and it wouldn't be surprising if she woke up early to go outside.

Percy stepped out the door and found his mother pruning away at the olive trees. He headed over to her without a second thought.

"Mom, I'm headed to town. You need me to get you anything?"

She pondered for a moment before replying with, "Well, I'm knitting us some covers for the winter, so could you buy some yarn? And we're running out of salt if you don't mind getting more."

"Yarn and salt, got it."

With that, Percy ran to his shed to make a quick check of inventory and note what he needed to order from the blacksmith. Once his list was ready, Percy saddled Blackjack and was off.

* * *

Percy and Blackjack trotted into a sleepy village lying on the outskirts of the city of Larissa, just a few miles north of his property. It was a perfect place for Percy to buy supplies because the little village never seemed to lack of traders traveling south from Larissa to the port cities in Attica.

The first person Percy paid a visit to was the local blacksmith. The smith was a great bear of a man. The guy easily weighed 10 stone and was a head taller than Percy. He sported a large barrel chest and his hairy arms could be mistaken for horses. There was no doubt that working the forge from dawn 'til dusk kept the man in great shape and his physique alone was enough to ward away any potential thieves. But Percy knew better, this man was harmless. He was no more dangerous than a ragdoll; an oversized, super-buff ragdoll maybe, but still not dangerous.

The man stood there pounding away at what looked to be the firing chamber of a musket. The smith took notice of Percy and looked up from his hammer and anvil. He smiled and wheezed out in a voice afflicted by years of inhaling smoke, "Good mornin' to ye Percy. What've ye got for me this time?"

"Well, I was just passing by and figured the best weaponsmith in Greece could help me gear up for a little hunting expedition."

"Jest passin' by, eh? Far's I can tell, nobody jest 'passes by' the best weaponsmith in Greece. Ha! Yer weak attempt at flattery's put me in a good mood. What're ye huntin'?"

"Hare, squirrel… something small."

"A'right, yer gonna need shot. Ye gotta knife to clean 'er with?"

"No. I'll need a blade, a new ramrod, and some leadshot."

"I'll get right to work on it."

"Thanks, I'm aiming for a big quarry, so I'll send some your way."

As Percy handed the smith his coins, a voice cut through the air. Curious with the ruckus, Percy looked down the road to see the source of the noise. An old man in ragged leathers stood on a crate above a gathering crowd shouting profanities about foreigners, raving about nobles in faraway lands, and overall just sending curses to any person in his vicinity.

"What's up with that?" Percy asked bewildered.

"Oh, jest ignore'm. That coot's been 'ere everyday now rantin' up a storm. Stay away from that one, ye hear? He's crazier than a scurvy-stricken sailor," the smith warned.

"I have time to waste, might as well see what he has to say. Thanks a bunch," Percy waved the smith goodbye as he ran over to the site of the spectacle.

Once Percy made his way to the crowd, he asked a bystander about the situation.

The man brushed it off nonchalantly, "The guy's a lunatic. He keeps raving about how Greece should follow the English and revolt against its king. I think he's just looking for some silver."

Percy turned his attention to the man who was shouting and flailing his arms in all his maniacal glory.

"_The time for revolution is now, O Greek brothers and sisters! A boy, an Italian, sits upon his throne on a peninsula far from here and calls himself your king. The lives of Greeks are directed at the behest of a child who has no connection to this old and proud land. The blood that flows through his veins is not that of our fathers, but of barbarians that call themselves civilized! Tell me, what gives a man, one man from across the sea, the right to steal the fruits of Greek labor? I can tell you that the gods do not bestow upon him such a right. Such a 'right' can only come from the willingness of the people to bow to a tyrant!"_

"_O Greeks, stewards of these ancient lands, have you lost your way? Your ancestors would have never submitted to the rule of overlords, to be slaves of foreign men and their proxies. Just look around you, serfs toil the fields of despots, men who are enriched off the backs of your brothers! And ho! Soon comes the taxman from Ferrara, ready to fill the king's coffers with the wheat not already gone to the local barons. Rise up! Rise like Britons in the north! Have you not heard of Oliver Cromwell and his Roundheads? They have taken to arms against their king to fight for freedom from tyranny. I can tell you, the king's riders will venture out to kill men where they stand. To rip babes from their mothers' bosoms. How do I know these things? They happen now, this very instant, in other lands of this king's demesne. The burning of villages, the slaughter of scores of innocents… all in the name of restoring the king's justice. Justice?! Men of Greece, hear my words. There is no justice unless it is brought about by you!"_

"_These things I tell you of, these harbingers of your destruction, need not stain your future. These calamities can be avoided if you call upon the strength of the ancients. You must work together. Ionians, Dorians, Cretans, and Macedonians. What does it matter? We are all a part of the Hellenic peoples. We are all Greeks! And as Greeks, so too shall we suffer together until we decide to end this plight that has befallen our land!"_

* * *

Percy decided that he had heard enough from the madman for one afternoon. He turned and stepped into a local shop to buy the rest of his things.

When Percy entered the shop, a familiar face sat at the counter to greet him. The owner of the store was a girl by the name of Bianca di Angelo. Bianca and her brother, Nico, were in the same situation as Percy in a way. Bianca and Nico were of Sicilian descent. Their father was a trader who set up shop in this village, the very shop that Bianca now manages. Their mother had died birthing Nico and their father drowned at sea while in command of a trading vessel. Their extended family resides back in Sicily and as a result, they have no one caring for them.

Bianca, being the good older sister, not only makes money for the two to survive, but also cares for her younger brother, who could be a handful. Percy saw a bit of himself in Bianca, being so young and having so much responsibility. He was overwhelmed when he began tending the fields and he couldn't imagine having to take care of a sibling in the midst of all that work. Percy had a soft spot for the di Angelos, and so, came to town whenever possible to "trade" food with them.

"Hello Percy," Bianca happily greeted him.

"Hey Bianca," Percy replied while opening his rucksack.

"How did the road treat you?"

"It feels great outside. I love autumn weather," Percy said as he began placing various foodstuffs on the counter.

Just then, there was a clanking sound followed by a "Percy!"

"Nico, watch what you're doing!" Bianca scolded as her younger brother rushed past the counter.

"Hey Nico," Percy smiled at the giddy, little kid standing in front of him. In fact, he was more hyper than usual as he practically bounced in place. Nico took in a big breath and let the questions fly in a frenzy of words.

"_HOW'S THE CROP? WHAT'S MRS. JACKSON UP TO? YOU PROMISED YOU'D LET ME RIDE BLACKJACK! HAVE YOU SEEN THE CRAZY MAN OUTSIDE? DID YOU BRING ME ANYTHING? CHECK OUT MY COOL NEW TOYS!_"

By that point, Bianca came to the rescue and started calming the wired-up, wild child.

"I'm sorry, he's just excited about his new dolls," Bianca said apologetically.

"They're not dolls!" Nico claimed indignantly.

Percy consoled her, "It's fine. Alright Nico, let's take a look at what you got there."

Nico proudly displayed a set of assorted figurine soldiers and happily explained to Percy all of the fun things he had been doing with them.

"Where'd he get those?" Percy asked Bianca, aware of their financial situation.

"A man came into the shop the other day and saw a ring he wanted. He couldn't afford it, but offered those figurines to cover the difference," Bianca explained as she watched her brother entertain himself by smacking the toy soldiers against each other. "I figured that Nico should have something to keep him busy, so I accepted the offer."

Percy decided that he needed to help her out.

"Listen, the harvest is coming soon and I need a farmhand to help reap the crop. I could take Nico off your hands for a few days if you want. I'll feed him and give him some money for the work. Maybe he could buy himself some more of those toys."

Bianca lit up at the offer, "Would you really do that?"

"Of course. I'll pick him up next week," Percy replied. "Now to get what I came for. I'm gonna need about ten spools of yarn and a bag of salt."

"Okay, that'll be 2 and 5/7 silver ducats," Bianca replied opening her safe.

Percy handed her the coins and then proceeded to give her the food.

"What would you like to trade the food in for?"

"Uh, those breeches," Percy gestured to an old, worn-out pair of laborer's pants.

"Are you sure that's all you want?" Bianca eyed him suspiciously.

"Yeah, I need something for next week," Percy shrugged it off. "Alright I'm off. Tell Nico to be ready for 8 o'clock next Monday."

Before Percy stepped through the door, Bianca called out from behind, "Thank you Percy, for everything."

With that, Percy took his things and left to get Blackjack. His business in town was done.

* * *

**A/N: I haven't updated in over a month. Anyone who is angry with me has every right to be. No amount of apologies can atone for my tardiness.**

**However, there are plenty of excuses I could come up with. Ultimately, writer's block, school, and my overall laziness are the reasons for the extreme procrastination. So for those of you who stuck with the story, thank you so much. I'll make it worth your while.**

**Note: If there are things that you find confusing, feel free to refer to the glossary I made for you guys.**

**Again, my thanks to all those who reviewed, favorited, or just read the story. Have a happy Thanksgiving!**

* * *

**Glossary  
**

Attica: region in southern Greece; location of Athens

baron: landed title, ruler of a barony; above an unlanded knight, below a viscount

behest: an order; a command

breeches: pants; trousers

briton: inhabitants of the British Isles

clean: to skin

coffer: another word for treasury

demesne: a ruler's holdings

despot: a ruler who holds absolute power; often uses it cruelly

ducat: a gold or silver trade coin used throughout Europe before the turn of the 20th century

English Civil War (AD 1642-1651): series of conflicts fought between the opposing forces of the Roundheads (led by Oliver Cromwell and the Parliamentarians) who supported increased power for the English Parliament and the Cavaliers (led by King(s) Charles I/Charles II and the Loyalists) who supported the king's role as an absolute monarch (able to act without the consent of Parliament); ended with the (temporary) overthrow of the English monarchy and the execution of Charles I, also started the 5 year dictatorial reign of Cromwell and the Puritans

equestrian: fancy word for horse

Ferrara: a northern Italian city; in reference to the story, is the capital of the Kingdom of Atlantis

firing chamber: part of the musket barrel where the black powder is ignited and the projectile begins to be propelled forward

forge: place of work for a smith; has all the tools necessary in which to heat, bend, and hammer iron or steel

harbinger: a herald; an omen

hare: another name for rabbit; differs from actual rabbits in that they do not burrow into the ground

Hellenic: refers to Greece or anything Greek

Larissa: major Greek city in the region of Thessaly (the central section along the Aegean Sea)

leadshot: (see: shot for reference)

manor: large piece of land owned by a noble or other wealthy person of note; built for self-sufficiency and export of crops (much more prevalent in Eastern Europe by this time)

Oliver Cromwell: leader of the Roundheads (the Parliamentarian forces) (see: English Civil War for reference)

plight: unfavorable condition or situation

proxy: an agent with the authority to act for another

quarry: a goal; a quota

quartermaster (land armies): distributor of arms and provisions

ramrod: rod used to push a musket ball down the barrel; it was necessary to keep the powder packed tight for efficient firing of the weapon

reap: to harvest grain

Roundheads: the forces supporting the English Parliament during the English Civil War (see: English Civil War for reference)

rucksack: another word for backpack; a knapsack

score: a unit of measurement; roughly 20 units

scurvy: a disease set on by extended periods of vitamin C deficiency; common among sailors who had a limited supply of foods rich in vitamin C

serf: peasant bound to a plot of land; works the land in return for protection from the lord

shot: another word for projectile; in this case, Percy doesn't want a larger caliber ball, but smaller projectiles (akin to birdshot with shotguns)

Sicily: large island off the coast of Italy; south of Naples (Italy's southern tip)

spit: a cooking device that rotates over an open fire; rotisserie

steward: one employed to manage the domestic concerns of an estate; related to the concept of stewardship

stone: general unit of measure; different areas have varying masses (I used the Polish stone as a reference: ~25 lb.)

sulfur: the sulfuric smell is not that of "rotten eggs" (which is given off by hydrogen sulfide), but a different odor; elemental sulfur has a more subtle aroma, like that of a burning match

tyrant: ruler who exercises power without consenting to the restraints of law or custom

zenith: highest point


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: When characters speak in a foreign language that the narrator understands, the words will be written in _italics._**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the _Percy Jackson_ series or any of its characters. The series is the legal property of Rick Riordan.**

* * *

_"Cultivators of the earth are the most valuable citizens. They are the most vigorous, the most independent, the most virtuous, and they are tied to their country and wedded to its liberty and interests by the most lasting bands."_

- Thomas Jefferson, 1785

* * *

The countryside surrounding the city of Larissa stirred with an energetic furor as landowners of all standing rushed to complete the year's harvest. From the largest of manors to the most humble of independent farms, laborers from all corners of Greece raced to fill their stores with grain for the upcoming winter. Those who were lucky enough to reap a big haul would be able to sell their surplus on the open market. The less fortunate, however, would be left praying that their yield could support their families once all of the levies were paid. For many, this harvest (as well as each to come) was a make-or-break moment that would determine their fate for the next year and possibly many more thereafter.

In the fields of one such farm, two young men toiled to finish their overwhelming task. The older of the two, Percy Jackson, repeatedly swung his scythe at the seemingly endless sea of wheat. His mind appeared to be empty, never wandering to the bothersome thoughts of his heavy breathing and racing heart. Reaping entire fields of grain was tiring work and to think of one's own discomfort was akin to suicide. Percy knew his body ached, but he would surely collapse of exhaustion if he allowed his absent mind to lose its concentration of the task at hand.

_Pull back. Swing. Pull back. Swing._

Percy stuck to his internal cadence as he razed every stalk of wheat standing before him.

Following close behind was an energetic, young Sicilian by the name of Nico di Angelo. Percy had offered him a job over a week ago and it was some of the hardest work the kid had ever seen. But to Percy's delight, he proved himself capable of every job assigned to him and seemed eager to earn his first wage. Percy admired his hard-working attitude and appreciated the extra help. With his farm's recent expansions, Percy could no longer finish the job on his own and decided to offer Nico future work should he desire it.

Before he knew it, the last stalks of wheat were cut. Percy looked back at Nico to check his progress. Nico ran about, picking up every stalk that lay on the ground and proceeded to bundle them into neat sheaves. They had been doing this for five whole days now, reaping and bundling every field of wheat, oats, and barley that Percy owned.

Percy looked to the west and watched as the sun receded beyond the horizon. He had worked nonstop from dawn 'til dusk without even taking a moment to break his fast. Thankfully, his work paid off and he was still on schedule.

He felt the sticky sensation of sweat rolling off his bare back, as well as the dull pain tormenting the muscles in his arms and legs. Worse yet, he noticed a tingling sensation up and down his shoulders – the early signs of a sunburn.

_Damn you Apollo_, Percy cursed.

Completely winded and devoid of energy, Percy let out an exhausted sigh. He tossed his scythe to the side and collapsed to the ground, intent on taking a short rest.

Before Percy could even regain his bearings, an excited face blocked his view of the evening sky. Nico looked down at Percy, ready to receive any orders that the boss man may have had for him.

Percy, refusing and unable to move from his comfortable position, spoke in ragged breaths.

"You did a good job Nico," Percy gasped. "At this rate, we'll be done reaping by tomorrow afternoon and then we can start the plowing."

Percy took a few seconds to catch up on his breathing.

He continued, "We're gonna need to harvest my chickpea crop. We'll also take note of which fields need fallowing and which can support more grain. Once we've marked each field, we can take inventory and clean up the equipment."

Percy felt his neck go limp at the thought of how much work was left for them.

He normally kept a stoic face, but he let some grumbling slip in a less-than-noble moment of weakness. "I can't wait for this shit to be over," he muttered under his breath.

_Great job, Perce. Way to be a stellar role model for the kid_, Percy's inner conscience chided him.

Nico seemed not to notice Percy's lack of enthusiasm for a good day's work, as he happily beamed down at his employer.

Ever the stalwart assistant, Nico produced a leather pouch and asked, "Percy, would you like a drink?"

If there was ever a thing in this world that could have motivated Percy to get off that patch of dirt, it was the thought of a good swig of water. He hopped up quicker than Nico could uncork the pouch and greedily ripped it from his partner's hands.

Percy brought the term "bottoms up" new meaning as he swiftly drained the pouch of its contents. The water was some of the best he ever drank, or so he imagined. The liquid moistened his parched mouth and brought cool relief to his body as it traveled down to the bottom of his gut. The water had a sweet taste to it due to the trace amount of wine used to sterilize it.

Once Percy had his fill, he offered Nico the last bit. Nico gratefully took the pouch and had a long, satisfying drink.

After a big slap on the back for a job well done, Percy had Nico take the scythe back to the cart. Meanwhile, he grabbed a few sheaves of wheat for the millstone and trekked back to where Blackjack stood waiting.

Blackjack whinnied at the return of his master, seemingly delighted that he could finally go home. Percy sent a snarky remark Blackjack's way before stacking the wheat in the cart and grabbing his tunic. Once Nico had finished adjusting the horse's reins, the trio set off for Percy's cottage, all too ready to eat some grub and hit the sack.

* * *

Sitting next to a warm fire, a middle-aged woman worked diligently on a set of large quilts. Sally Jackson had finished setting the table for dinner and was now waiting patiently for her son to return home. To help pass the time, she concerned herself with knitting.

During the day, Sally would be out and about, doing chores outside and far away from the cramped hut that her family called a home. The small, windowless dwelling was not the most comfortable space to live in and the stale air often drove her to find refuge in her yard. She spent a lot of her time in the yard, often waiting until dusk before finally going back inside to fix dinner.

Sally became energized whenever she breathed in the cool, fresh air of the early morning. She felt less restrained under the big blue sky as opposed to the low ceiling of the cottage, able to be free as the wind once she stepped out the door. Outside in the wonderful weather, she would clean dishes and do laundry, air out her mattress, and sometimes haul out furniture just to make minor repairs. But her favorite chore by far was tending to her personal garden. Her garden was her prized possession; she grew many herbs and vegetables with which she used to make special dinners in order to get away from the blandness of the usual gruel. As such, she devoted a great deal of time pruning, weeding, and aerating that garden. She would often tell herself that she had the best garden in all of Greece and the vendors in town seemed to agree when presented with her produce.

Despite the housewife image, Sally was a very proud and independent woman. She used to never need an excuse to be outdoors and didn't ever need to find some trivial task with which to waste her time. After her husband died and before Percy had grown big enough, she tended the fields all on her own just as her son does now. The Jackson property wasn't as large then as it is now, so she never had trouble tending the fields whilst taking care of a child. But with Percy buying up so much land, it was no surprise to her that he would come home half-dead at night.

Percy tended to be a workaholic and Sally knew that if he drove himself any further than he already did, she would suffer living out the nightmare of burying a son. He desperately needed to relax and do something for himself once in a while, and she would tell him just that. Unfortunately, he was his father's son.

He could be stubborn as a mule and would often blow off her suggestions by dodging the interventions entirely. It was just a guess, but Sally suspected that Percy's tendency to overdo himself was rooted in the fact that he never had a father to look up to. He pretended not to care, but Sally had a knack for seeing behind the mask. He was deeply affected by the fact that his father was dead, even though he had no memories of the man.

Did Percy feel some obligation to fill his father's role as master of the house? Did he have some desire to live up to what he imagined his father was like? Did he think his father failed in his duties as a husband, and now works to right his wrongs? Or did he just need an activity to keep his mind occupied?

Sally didn't have an answer to those questions and honestly, she didn't know what she was going to do with that boy. She would just have to find him a nice girl, a strong one who could rein him in and keep him grounded. Someone kind of like herself, Sally thought smugly.

Just as Sally was musing over which girls in town Percy could get along with, she heard a loud ruckus followed by the door being slammed open a bit too roughly.

The whining of two very tired and hungry boys filled her humble abode. Cries like, "Gods, I'm beat!" and "Feed me!" brought a smile to her lips.

Sally put her knitting materials aside and got up from her chair. It was time to get to work. She had a job to do.

* * *

Percy couldn't believe how hungry he was. The decision to not break his fast was probably his dumbest yet, and he'd made some pretty stupid choices in his life. Regardless, it seemed that his mother decided to treat them to a great dinner that night.

He had already devoured three bowls of salad and was now working on his second helping of chicken and lentil stew. That's not even counting the amount of bread and honey he consumed.

Nico wasn't much better. He was eating so fast he nearly choked on a chicken bone.

_"Remember to chew your food,"_ Percy's mother would remind them.

Yes, they had succumbed to the sin of gluttony. But who wouldn't have? His mother laid out what seemed to be a smorgasbord, whatever that was.

The salads were made from the vegetables his mother had grown out of her garden and consisted of such morsels as tomatoes, onions, bell peppers, olives, and feta. She even had garum! Nico apparently took her words of _"Eat as much as you like!"_ to heart and doused his salad in the stuff. Everything was delicious from the bread to the meat, and Percy could barely contain himself when his mother revealed that she had gotten her hands on a bit of chocolate.

The night had been a festive one and their high spirits probably would have lasted for much longer. But a knock at the door brought the room to a dead silence.

Recovering from his confusion, Percy got up to answer the door. He made sure to keep his dinner knife on him just in case. Percy opened the door with a cautious "Hello? Who is it?"

Waiting at the door and wearing some of the finest threads Percy had ever seen, stood a dainty gentlemen holding a roll of parchment. The man had quite the sense of style. He sported a newly-polished leather jerkin over a shiny green doublet; and below the waist were an expensive looking pair of crimson breeches and a matching pair of cream-colored, "bucket top" boots. Add a wide-brimmed, velvet hat and a purple cape thrown over one shoulder and Percy figured the man for a fairy tale hero. Seriously, the guy looked like a million florins!

After admiring the man's perfectly brushed hair and stylish mustache-beard combo, Percy forced out the first response he could come up with.

"Uh…"

_Idiot! The man's obviously a noble, get your head in the game_, Percy berated himself.

Percy quickly regained some of his composure, not wanting to insult his visitor.

"Ah, W-What can I do you for, sir?"

The man sighed; a bored expression graced his face. He obviously liked this situation no more than Percy.

He quickly unrolled his parchment and asked Percy, "Are you Mr. Perseus Jackson?"

"Y-Yes sir," Percy answered quite scared of the fact that this man knew his name.

The man spoke once again, "There have been reports of a roving gang of bandits terrorizing the countryside north of Larissa. Because these attacks have come at such a delicate time as the autumn harvests, his lordship, the Count Karolos Iordanou has called for mobilizing the reserves to quicken the search."

Percy knew what was coming. His luck just had to be this bad, it would seem strange otherwise.

The man continued, "In the Count's name, I hereby order you to report to your garrison by two o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Your gear and munitions will be supplied to you at the staging area outside the city gates. This is _not_ optional."

He then asked somewhat offhandedly, "Do you by chance own a firearm?"

Percy answered with a timid "Yes sir."

"Then I highly suggest that you bring it," the man remarked dryly. "You've been in the reserve for a while, am I correct? You know how shoddy the weapons in the armory are."

Percy could attest to that; those weapons were pretty beat up. They were just as likely to kill the handler as they were to kill the target.

"Have a good night, sir. I thank you for your time," the man said with a nod of his head. And with that, the extravagantly dressed man was gone, probably off to ruin some other poor bastard's night.

Percy sighed, defeated. He'd have to find someone to work his fields for him while he was absent. Percy cried a little on the inside knowing how much it would cost him to hire farmhands on such short notice. His already crazy autumn just got a hell of a lot worse.

Percy shut the door and informed Nico to have his things packed for morning. He then sauntered over to his sleeping area, too exhausted to worry about anything else. His aching body was ready to get some rest and before he even made contact with the hay stack, he was sleeping like a baby.

* * *

The next morning, Percy scurried around the yard making sure everything was in order before he headed out. Gathering his stuff and making certain that his mother would be okay without him made an already hectic process even more troublesome. Thankfully, his mother was able to find him some workers and better yet, he didn't even have to pay them!

The clopping of horse hooves stopped Percy dead in his tracks and he turned to meet his savior.

A gentleman dressed in fine clothing rode up to Percy's cottage. He was a handsome man about the same age as Percy's mother. His head was topped by long salt and pepper hair and his face beamed with a friendly smile. One could tell by his appearance that he was of the landed gentry, but his informal demeanor was that of a common man. The guy's light-hearted attitude could make even the most guarded person want to have a drink with him. Percy thought he was pretty cool for a noble.

The man, Lord Paul Blofis, was a baron from a neighboring county. Paul dismounted his horse and strolled over to Percy with that big smile of his.

Shaking Percy's hand, Paul said, "Hey Percy, how's life been treating you?"

Percy shook back and replied, "It's been going good. I really appreciate you coming out here. You don't know much of a help this is."

Paul waved nonchalantly, saying, "Think nothing of it. It's my pleasure."

Soon enough, Paul introduced Percy to a few laborers that accompanied him. Percy explained the progress of the work to the group and handed out their assignments, making sure to list everything that needed to be completed.

Percy heard the door to the cottage open. He turned to see his mother accompanying Nico, helping him with his luggage.

Paul's already bright smile seemed to shine even brighter. He waved to Percy's mother and made his way over to her.

"Hey Sally!" he chirped. Without asking, Paul took the bag from her.

Percy's mother seemed to liven up as well, replying with a happy, "It's nice to see you, Paul!"

Percy groaned; he knew this would happen. Percy first met Paul after his mother brought the man home for a cup of coffee. Apparently, they had bumped into each other at the market in town and instantly hit it off.

Percy liked the guy, but was still suspicious of his mother's suitors.

His suspicion stemmed from another man who tried courting her. Lord Gabe Ugliano, another local baron and a bona fide jerk, had set his eyes on Percy's mother a few years back. The man's estate was going through some financial trouble and his only goal was to secure a marriage in order to gain ownership of the Jackson property.

Now Percy could readily admit that he was not the smartest person in the world, but he wasn't _that _stupid. He was completely aware of the plot and tried warning his mother not to get involved with the guy. His mother refused listen to him, so he just kept his mouth shut. The two men definitely did not like each other and Percy even had a nickname for him: Smelly Gabe.

The deal breaker came one night when Percy came back from a hunting trip to find the creep hitting his mother. Percy nearly painted his walls with ol' Gabe's brains, but the bastard got away. Needless to say, Percy never saw his ugly mug again.

Percy never kept this a secret from Paul and he believed that Paul had gotten the message. But the persistent noble seemed determined to score points with him and would help Percy out whenever possible. Percy remained cautious of Paul's relationship with his mother, but wasn't above taking advantage of the guy's endless offer of favors.

While the two love birds talked excitedly of future rendezvous, Percy and Nico were busy loading the cart and readying Blackjack for the ride into town.

Percy noticed his mother and Paul coming to say their goodbyes. His mother walked up to him and gave him a great big hug, thoroughly embarrassing him in front of both his friend and the man he was trying to scare.

"Mom," he whined a bit too childishly.

Percy's complaints failed to deter her display of affection and she spoke to her son like any concerned mother would.

"I love you, sweetie. Stay safe and come back in one piece for me, okay?" she gushed as if purposely trying to mortify him.

"I love you too, Mom," Percy tried to say a quietly as possible. He could hear Nico snickering behind him and Percy shot him a deadly look.

Unfortunately for Nico, Percy's mother decided to treat him as "part of the family" making sure to straighten his clothes and wipe some dirt from his face. With Nico's face reddened like a cherry, it was Percy's turn to laugh.

As the two boys headed out, they waved back one last time. Percy saw his mother and Paul fade into the distance, and then set his sights on the road before him.

* * *

Nico sat on the cart's bench next to Percy, fiddling with his bag of coins. He had earned a total of fifteen silver ducats as payment for five days' worth of work, which was not a bad profit in the least. As he clinked the coins together, he found himself wishing that Percy could have stayed a bit longer. He had a lot of fun working with Percy and earning a wage was an added bonus. The work Percy had him do was tough, but it was better than sitting around and doing nothing all day. His town didn't have many kids his age, so he often had no one to play with and Bianca was always too busy taking care of the shop. Nico sighed knowing full well that as soon as Percy dropped him off, his life would go back to its same old dull self. Boredom seemed to be the status quo for Nico, but at least Percy had offered him a job for the next few harvests. He had something to look forward to in the coming year.

Nico's train of thought was broken by the sound of Percy's voice.

"We're here."

Nico looked up and sure enough, they were parked in front of his sister's shop. Percy helped him gather his things and they walked inside.

What they found shocked them. Nico's sister was standing behind the counter yelling angrily at a customer in Italian.

"Vattine! Vattine!" she shouted at him. Her lively hands formed fists which were pointed threateningly at the poor buffoon.

Nico, being able to speak Italian, knew that she was telling the guy to get the hell out of her shop. Percy, however, looked confused and slightly uncomfortable.

Bianca threw some coins at the man and shouted, "_Do you take me for a fool? Show me some real silver before I bash you over the head and hang you on my wall!_"

The man yelled back in Italian, "_You bitch! Those are Spanish reales!_"

"_The scale doesn't lie!_" Bianca exclaimed, pointing to the weighing device sitting before her. "_Those coins are much heavier than they should be! What are they, made of lead!?_"

"_Tch. What does a girl know of weighing coins?_" the man retorted, obviously not liking where the conversation was going.

"_Take your filthy money and get out of my shop. I never want to be bothered with your presence again,_" Bianca replied, very annoyed with the man.

The man angrily turned to leave, not bothering to pick up the coins that were scattered across the floor. As a last show of disrespect, he bumped Percy on his way out.

Percy turned to Bianca, looking somewhat bewildered and asked, "What was that all about?"

Bianca let out an exasperated sigh and apologized to him.

"I'm really sorry you had to see that. The guy thought he could get away with paying me in worthless coins."

Bianca looked really exhausted. Nico hoped she didn't have too much trouble while he was away.

Nico entered his room and began putting away his stuff as Percy started chatting with Bianca, possibly in an attempt to cheer her up. Nico didn't really pay much attention to what they were saying, but when he heard his sister laughing he quickly turned around.

He still couldn't hear what the two were discussing, however, he noticed Bianca acting strangely. She looked relaxed with her body leaning itself on the counter. But one of her hands gripped her skirt tightly, her thumb and index finger unconsciously twiddling with the fabric. She only did that when she was anxious.

Nico's gaze made its up way up to her face. She looked happy, but in an unfamiliar way. She enjoyed her work, she liked talking to the people of the town, and she loved taking care of Nico; these things always brought a smile to her face. The expression she currently wore was not that kind of happy.

Nico couldn't figure out what was wrong his sister. It soon became apparent, however, that whenever Percy spoke, some part of her body would fidget or sway. Nico's brain went into overdrive, working extra hard to process the meaning of the scene playing out before him.

A worrying thought popped into Nico's mind. Could his sister be interested in Percy?

Nico quickly threw that possibility aside, forcing himself to believe that it would never happen. But the more he watched the two of them converse, the more worried he became. Nico's imagination started to get the better of him. He loved Percy like a brother, but not like a _brother-in-law_. Nico soon found his mind wandering into the realm of what couples did once they were together. The image he came up with nearly made him puke.

Nico watched numbly as Percy waved goodbye and stepped out the door. Bianca turned to Nico with a bright smile, her face practically glowing.

"Come on, Nico. Let's have some lunch," Bianca said happily.

She took a dismayed Nico by the hand and dragged him out of the shop.

* * *

**Well, ****I just finished cleaning all the dust and cobwebs that plagued my account. It's been what, four months since I last logged on? I honestly have no idea what happened. But I'm back and to make it up to those of you who actually stuck with the story, I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow.  
**

**Once again, I have created a glossary for your viewing pleasure! Feel free to peruse the many strange words and concepts that I've thrown into my story.  
**

**More than likely, I've overlooked some grammatical error. If you find anything worth pointing out, let me know. I enjoy seeing what you guys have to say.  
**

**As always, I thank those who have read, reviewed, or favorited this story. Have a good week!**

* * *

**Glossary**

aerate: to supply with air; ventilate

break a fast: to eat

cadence: rhythm; measure of movement

chickpea: type of legume; legumes fix the nitrogen content in the soil when they die and are used in the restoration of soil

count: title of nobility, governs a county; above a baron and below a duke

county: administrative region either owned or governed by a count; a countship

doublet: a man's buttoned jacket

fallow: a field left empty; to leave a field empty in order to restore its fertility

florin: a gold coin first minted in Florence, Italy

garum: fish sauce

gruel: porridge; boiled cereals

jerkin: a short, close-fitting jacket, often without sleeves

levy: a tax, the act of taxing; conscripted soldiers

millstone: stone in a grain mill used to grind wheat into flour

munitions: war material; weapons and ammunition

parchment: thin material used for writing on, made from limed animal hide

plow: to cut and turn over soil

prune: to cut dead leaves off of a plant

quilt: large bed covering

raze: level to the ground; demolish

real: a silver coin first minted in Spain in 1642; also known as a _real de plata_

reap: to harvest grain

scale: before the common use of fiat money, coins made of precious metals were used for transactions; the value of a coin rested with the value of its contents

scythe: farming instrument used for harvesting

sheaf: a large bundle of cereal plants

status quo: the existing conditions

trace amount: a small amount

tunic: garment used to cover the torso, usually reaching down to the hips

vattine: Italian for "begone"; officially it's _vattene_, but I think Sicilians say it with an accent

weed: to remove nutrient stealing plants

yields: gains


	5. Chapter 5

_**Warning**_**: Extremely crude language and imagery beyond this point. If you are sensitive to vulgar words, please stop reading. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the _Percy Jackson _series or any of its characters. They are the creations of Rick Riordan.**

* * *

"_Wars may be fought with weapons, but they are won by men. It is the spirit of the men who follow and of the man who leads that gains the victory."_

- George S. Patton, 1933

* * *

Percy stood in formation, having recently been fitted into his gear. His body felt overburdened under the weight of his equipment. At the city's armory, the quartermaster had issued Percy his uniform and armor.

He sweated profusely, suffering the effects of wearing a buff coat over his doublet. Thick breeches and thigh-high, leather boots completed the look of his uniform. He also had a heavy piece of armor weighing him down. A steel cuirass was strapped to his torso, covering both his chest and back.

Percy had so much on him, that he dropped his cabasset to the ground for fear of his head overheating. He leaned against his musket and looked around the camp.

An entire battalion's worth of soldiers dotted the area, some getting fitted into their armor and others lounging lazily about, waiting for their troop leader to call them to attention. Every one of them was a part of the county militia, the levies in reserve that were raised by the local lords when the Count called on his vassals' services.

Percy, being an independent farmer, owed no fealty to any of the county's barons. As a free land owner in Thessaly, he answered directly to the Count and was required to serve in the militia for at least one month out of the year. There were several others in the camp who, like him, did not answer to a baron. Usually they were townspersons from the city of Larissa and its surrounding villages, but some were retired veterans and some were foreigners that had established permanent residencies in the area.

However, for the most part, the ranks consisted of serfs and indentured servants who owed service to a nobleman.

Percy took a look around at his squadmates. Aside from the Corporal and himself, Percy's entire squad was made up of serfs and tenant farmers. It was a pretty sad bunch to say the least.

Their squad had three fireteams: one commanded by Percy, one commanded by a kid named Malcolm Bernerius, and the other commanded directly by the Corporal.

Percy looked over to Malcolm, his fellow fireteam leader. He looked pretty calm, even bored. The guy never let his emotions slip and never had much to say. He sort of stood out from the rest of the group due to his fair hair and freaky grey eyes. Percy always felt a chill crawl down his back whenever Malcolm looked at him with those eyes. Percy swore they could pierce his soul, analyzing the very fabric of his being and calculating ways in which to turn that information against him.

Percy knew his discomfort around Malcolm was a bit unfounded. He was actually a really nice person. The kid was an Atlantean from a small town in northern Italy. However, his parents were poor and in debt to a few nasty creditors who sold him off to a wealthy Greek noble. Now he worked as an indentured servant. He was smart though, probably smarter than his master. Thus, he was deemed too valuable to be wasted on physical labor out in the fields. He was responsible for more "brainy" things like managing the estate's finances and balancing its books. In fact because of this, some members of the squad just referred to him as "that smart guy".

Malcolm made for a good soldier and truly earned his spot as a fireteam leader, unlike Percy who got his rank of lancepesade simply for being a free man. Malcolm's competence showed in the discipline of his group. To his left, all in a straight line stood three well-trained, combat-ready soldiers.

There was Charles Beckendorf, a burly black man from Tripoli. He used to serve a Moslem lord, fighting up and down the Orient until he was captured in a battle by an enemy Greek commander. He had an imposing figure, being a former blacksmith, but he was one of the nicest people Percy had ever met. He was really good with his hands and could fix almost any problem the squad might encounter while handling their cheap weapons.

Then there was Lee Fletcher. He was a bit less serious than his fellow team members. He could flash a charming smile no matter the situation. He may have been a serf, but he never let that get him down. He'd always try to lighten the mood by singing a song or telling a joke. He would be the life of the party and everybody loved him for it. However, his friendly attitude didn't make him any less deadly in combat. His lord allowed him to hunt, making him good with a musket. He could easily shoot a man between the eyes from a hundred yards.

The last member in their line was Frank Zhang, a Chinaman. Frank was a big guy and skilled with any weapon you could put in his hands. He was kind of a downer, but he was disciplined and courageous. If there was anyone that could be trusted to get you out of a sticky situation, it was Frank. Frank didn't talk much about himself and no one knew how he had gotten from China to Greece, but nobody ever asked because it must have been rough. This never made him unfriendly with anyone, but he did tend to keep to himself.

Percy turned to his own unit for a mental comparison. He knew that if he ever had to go to war with these guys, he was as good as dead.

Directly beside him, not even bothering to stand, was Michael Yew. He was small guy, only coming up to Percy's chest when standing. That didn't matter. The dude was a spitfire and would get into fights with men almost twice his size. He had a sharp tongue and could be a bit of a smartass, which would sometimes get him into trouble with his superiors. But he was definitely a good brawler and when in combat, was probably the most ferocious member of the squad.

The other two members of Percy's fireteam, Travis and Connor, were an interesting pair. The "Stoll Twins", as they were collectively known, caused nothing but grief for Percy. They were always playing tricks on people and often wreaked havoc among the ranks if left unsupervised. No one seemed to be immune to their practical jokes, not even the officers. Whenever Percy got chewed out by the Corporal or the Lieutenant, Travis and Connor were more than likely the reason behind it.

Judging from their appearances, it was no wonder they were so troublesome. They sported upturned eyebrows and crooked smiles, and both had a gleam in their eyes that made a person want to protect their coin purse. Percy's group seemed to always have more rations and supplies than the other units in the platoon. He figured there was a connection, but he tended not to ask questions.

They looked very much alike; their only differentiating physical trait being that Travis was slightly taller than his brother. However, Connor was definitely the smarter of the two and was a little more level-headed than Travis. Overall, they were nice guys, but Percy often wondered how their lord ever got anything productive out of them.

Percy looked to the Corporal's fireteam, whose leader was apparently absent. They, like everyone else in the squad, seemed to be taking it easy due to the drill master being AWOL.

The first member of their unit was a big guy named Butch Abramowitz. Butch had a shaved head and a stern face, so a lot of people tended to avoid him. Percy never had any problems with him, but he could be extremely violent to those unfortunate enough to get on his bad side. Percy figured that he must have been emotionally unstable or at the very least, overly sensitive.

Next to Butch, a kid named Pollux Sandeo lazed about on the ground like a total sad sack. His chest moved slowly up and down as he snored through what seemed to be a wonderful nap.

Having blonde hair and violet eyes, Pollux looked every bit as strange as Malcolm and for as much as Percy knew, they were probably from the same area. Pollux was a pretty simple guy, enjoying food and relaxation. He was also a chronic drunk. He just couldn't keep his hands off the alcohol and sometimes went so far as to sneak wine from the officer's quarters. He could usually hold his liquor and would sometimes even go into combat with a buzz. Percy didn't know how anyone could operate a musket while intoxicated, but it seemed to work just fine for Pollux.

Percy didn't like getting involved with rumors, but he had heard from scuttlebutt that Pollux's drinking problem stemmed from the fact that his brother died a few years back. As a result, Percy always felt kind of bad for the kid and would try his best to be nice to him.

The last member of their fireteam was Mark van den Geweer. He was tall and strong…and one mean son of a bitch. He was one of the more skilled fighters of the group, being proficient with weapons both ranged and hand-to-hand. He was pretty conceited and could be a huge ass, often provoking fights with others – mainly Michael. Percy usually tried to avoid him because frankly, he didn't need the trouble. Mark was tough to keep restrained and the only person in the squad who could keep him in line was the Corporal.

The Corporal was Percy's squad leader. He was the oldest in the group and was, without a doubt, a certified badass. A middle-aged man in his late thirties, the Corporal was a retired mercenary who had fought in the various religious wars of the last few decades. Apparently, he started fighting around the age of nine when he was allowed into a mercenary group as an equipment carrier. In one of the battles, the man he was assisting was wounded. So the Corporal took the man's empty musket, charged the enemy marksman and cracked his skull open with the weapon's stock. The mercenary group was so impressed, they made him a scout.

Percy could easily see the Corporal doing something crazy like that. He was a no-nonsense, tough-as-nails kind of guy. He was born in Athens and grew up in the rougher section of the city. He had a short temper and a strong arm to boot. Having the fiery city slicker surrounded by a bunch of country bumpkins tended to result in situations that ended badly for various members of the squad.

"_STOLL!_" an all too familiar voice bellowed.

Situations like the one currently unfolding.

A muscular, balding man with a scruffy beard exited one of the many tents in the camp and advanced straight toward Percy's squad. The man, by all accounts, looked none too pleased. His nostrils were flared and his squinted eyes telegraphed somebody's impending death.

The Corporal had arrived.

Travis snapped to when the Corporal marched up to him. The Corporal looked ready to kick some ass, his face just mere inches from Travis'.

"Did you replace my tobacco with fucking horse turds?!" barked the Corporal in exasperation, trying very hard to keep his breathing under control.

"You didn't actually chew the stuff, did you?" Travis replied, clearly holding back a laugh.

This earned a lot of face palms from the rest of the group. They already knew what was coming.

The Corporal trembled with anger and gave the scariest evil eye Percy had ever seen. Travis meanwhile, looked like an idiot what with his pursed lips and tightened facial expression. Seeing as how the air seemed to boil around the Corporal, Percy wondered if Travis was just crazy or plain suicidal.

"Stoll, I swear to the gods that if you don't shut your damn mouth, I will tear your arm off _AND FUCK YOU WITH IT!_" the Corporal screamed, his face red and veins visible.

Percy, for the life of him, couldn't believe what Travis did next. He couldn't even fathom what would motivate the imbecile to act that stupid.

In perfect Stoll fashion, Travis answered with confidence, "Sir! I'd be honored if you fucked me!"

Whatever simple pleasure Travis wished to gain from this stunt, he never got a chance to enjoy it. Before anyone could blink, the corporal balled his fist and struck Travis between the neck and shoulder. Travis crumpled instantly, his formless body hitting the dirt with a thud. Percy swore he heard something snap.

The Corporal wasted no time in kicking Travis in the stomach multiple times. Travis soon began coughing up blood, red spittle running down the side of his cheek. He wheezed as he recovered from having the wind knocked out of him. Percy was sure he had a cracked rib.

The Corporal turned to Percy and barked, "JACKSON!"

Percy snapped to attention, his body stiff as a board.

"Sir!"

"Take Stoll's sorry ass to the infirmary," the Corporal instructed him before spitting on Travis. "The rest of you form up! We're drilling until you drop dead!"

Percy rushed to Travis and lifted him up. He grabbed Travis' good arm and threw it over his neck, hauling the lifeless form to the medical tent.

Before Percy checked Travis in, he decided to find out what was going through the idiot's head before the incident.

"Dude, why'd you have to antagonize him like that?"

Travis turned to Percy with a bloody, but satisfied grin and replied, "Because it's fun!"

And with that bit of brilliant insight, Travis left to get patched up. Percy was left standing there, dumbfounded as ever, and stared at the tent for a while before finally turning around to head back to the squad.

* * *

It was a sunny autumn morning. With a slight breeze and not a cloud in the sky, the weather was absolutely gorgeous. Birds chirped as they flew in the bright blue sky and rabbits scurried about, chewing on the various grasses that covered the fields around Larissa. The atmosphere of the surrounding area radiated peace and happiness.

So why was Percy so miserable?

The beleaguered conscript stood in formation, body sweating and sore under the weight of all his equipment. His face was painted with an apathetic expression as he suffered through watching the Corporal tear Connor a new one.

The squad had assembled for some marksman training out in one of the fields near camp. Their first lesson for the day was learning about their firearms and how to handle the weapons safely. The Corporal, knowing full well that everyone present was experienced with a musket, had been going through the motions trying to quickly wrap up the lesson.

At the time, it had seemed like any other boring exercise. That is, until Pollux's musket discharged.

It was ironic that during an instruction on weapon safety, someone would unknowingly have a fully loaded musket primed and ready. Pollux made a pretty convincing case detailing all the reasons why he had no idea that his weapon was hot. His innocence was confirmed when Malcolm pointed out a smudge of black powder smeared on Connor's breeches. The Corporal grabbed Connor's sorry ass and then all hell broke loose, leading to the current situation.

Percy sighed as the Corporal literally threw a bruised Connor back into formation. They had been stationed at camp for three days now and had spent every second of it being berated by their superior. Percy started wondering when he could go home and see his mother again.

The Corporal, pissed off as could be, pointed to a line of canvas sacks stuffed with hay. Each sack had a big, black "O" painted as a target at its center.

"Alright, you little fucks! I planned on going easy on you today, but now I'm gonna run your asses into the dirt!" the Corporal growled. "Get to the firing line, you useless sacks of shit!"

Everyone did as the Corporal commanded, each rushing to the makeshift shooting range and quickly lining up across from their respective targets.

The Corporal stalked down the line, handing out ammunition and glowering at those he deemed the most irritating.

Eventually, Percy received his rounds from the aggravated NCO. He looked at his hand, counting a total of ten lead musket balls.

The Corporal then instructed, "Okay, boys. The targets in front of you are at a distance of fifty yards, about your weapons' maximum effective range."

"That little incident we had a few moments ago proves that I can't trust any of you blockheads with a weapon," the Corporal growled. "I want each and every one of you to clear your firing chambers. And don't forget to check your flash pans."

Everyone did as they were instructed. Percy brought the lock to a "half-cock" position and opened his pan cover, looking to see if there was any primer. He then shoved his ramrod down the barrel of his musket to check for any shot or powder.

Once he confirmed that his weapon was clear, he looked around at the rest of the squad. Everybody stood around waiting for the Corporal's next orders, seemingly ready to shoot some rounds.

"Load your weapons," the Corporal commanded.

Percy took his powder horn and proceeded to fill his firing chamber with black powder. After he loaded a lead ball, he packed it tight with his ramrod. Finally, he filled his flash pan with some black powder and waited for the Corporal's orders.

"Muskets at the ready!" the Corporal barked.

Percy brought the lock to a "fully cocked" firing position. With his weapon locked and loaded, Percy lifted his musket and rested the stock under the pit of his arm.

"Take aim!"

The Corporal's voice increased in pitch with each passing order.

Percy shoved the butt of the stock into his shoulder and rested his cheek on the comb. He then looked down the barrel of the musket, working to steady the weapon as he pointed it at the target in front of him. He evened his breathing and tightened his grip on the weapon, waiting for an all too familiar command.

"_FIRE!" _the Corporal boomed.

Percy took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

He received a punch-like kickback from the weapon, bruising his shoulder. He cringed as a series of loud cracks filled the air. For a brief moment, Percy felt deaf and could only hear the sound of the harsh ringing that filled his ears.

Thick, white smoke spewed from the ends of the musket barrels as the ignited powder propelled lead balls toward their targets. Luckily, the wind was at their backs, so Percy didn't have to suffer through the misery of burning eyes and coughing fits.

"Cease fire!"

Once the smoke had cleared, the Corporal took a look around the range to survey the damage. Percy followed his gaze.

It seemed as though every musket had fired without issue, no one suffering an aggravating "flash in the pan."

Percy scanned the various targets to see how they all did. Lee, Michael, and Mark all hit dead-center "bull's eyes." Malcolm and Frank both landed a hit on the inside of the circle, but everyone else had completely missed their targets.

Percy turned to take a look at his own handiwork. He spotted a small hole in the target's 2 o'clock, about a foot from the center. At least he was able to get it inside the circle.

They spent the rest of the day repeating the process of loading and firing until everyone had scored a "bull's eye." It took quite a while, but everyone was satisfied with their progress. The crappy weapons could only hold them back for so long.

Percy took note of his in particular. The wood was cracked in some areas and the barrel looked kind of warped from its many years of use. The old weapon had definitely seen better days.

Aside from the obvious wear and tear, the musket was actually a very nice piece of equipment. The wood was an attractive shade of reddish-brown and the stock was etched with many elaborate designs. It also utilized a snaphance firing mechanism, which was much more convenient than the outdated snaplock musket Percy owned. The weapon probably once served proudly in the hands of a skilled sharpshooter, but was now forgotten, relegated to mere surplus. In the twilight years of its life, it collected dust in a dark room only to see the light when needed as a quick way to supply a pathetic army of irregulars.

Percy had brought his hunting musket with him, but opted to train with a weapon from the city's armory. He didn't want his personal weapon to end up like the abused reject currently in his possession.

The Corporal called out, "Shoulder arms!" and they all rested their muskets over their shoulders.

When the Corporal gave the order to move out, the squad lined up in a single file and returned to camp.

* * *

Night had fallen and the camp came alive as the battalion's militiamen mingled with their comrades; the air was filled with the rowdy sounds of singing, laughing, and cheering. Word had spread around the camp that they would be mobilizing come morning and the excitement intensified as the alcohol exchanged hands.

Percy sat by a fire outside his tent, with Anaklusmos in one hand and a whetstone in the other. He occupied himself with sharpening the blade, stopping only to dab water on the stone or to eat a bit of his rations.

A few of his squadmates sat with him, exchanging many ridiculous stories with one another.

Travis recounted a bawdy story of how he had met a buxom young wench at a local tavern. The girl was all over him, he bragged. Later in the evening, he had taken her back to his lord's manor, thinking that it would be a lot fun if he bedded her right there in his master's quarters. He shared to the group all of the titillating details of their night's lovemaking. He ended his tale with a twist, saying that he was surprised to find out that she was actually the lady of the manor.

There was hooting and whistling from the guys around the fire. As the high fives were being passed around, Connor decided to ruin the fun.

"Oh please, Her Ladyship hooks up with strangers all the time. In fact, I fucked her just last month!" Connor exclaimed proudly.

The outburst seemed to get the desired reaction. Travis, looking utterly shocked, stammered incoherently.

"You mean my junk was in the same place as…" Travis asked with a horrified look.

"Yep, you might as well have been screwing me," Connor beamed. "That makes us closer than twins!"

"You asshole!" Travis yelled.

Connor hopped up, running away laughing as his brother chased after him.

Percy wasn't surprised by the exchange. In fact, it was to be expected when around this group.

Stories like these continued on into the night until the camp's officers finally forced their drunken men to get some rest.

Percy lay on his mat looking at the roof of his small tent. He didn't know how long it would take for the battalion to complete their assignment, but he realized that every time he was deployed, he gained a new-found appreciation for the small cottage that was his home. It may have been small and his hay stack may have been uncomfortable, but there was always a warm fire and he knew that his mother would be sleeping in the next room.

Percy rolled to his side, the loneliness washing over him. He wondered if his father ever felt this way when separated from his wife. Percy spent the rest of night brooding over these sobering thoughts before finally succumbing to the onset of sleep.

* * *

In a dense forest, an anxious platoon of militiamen waited silently as a devious scheme went into motion. The battalion had mobilized four days ago with each of the companies' platoons scouring the countryside. The unit's scouts had recently reported sightings of the elusive bandits in the nearby area and riders were sent out to pursue them. These mounted rifles, professional soldiers from the Count's own personal guard, would herd the gang of bandits directly into the heart of the concealed forces. It would be a perfect ambush.

Percy crouched behind a thick pine as he anxiously waited for the signal to engage.

Soon enough, the sound of galloping horses and panicked yells rattled off in the distance. It wouldn't be long now before Percy rushed into combat.

He had done this many times before, being in his fourth year in the militia. But no matter how many times he fought, he could never get rid of the uneasy feeling that afflicted his stomach before a battle.

Before Percy knew it, the bandits were in range. The platoon's lieutenant gave the order to engage.

"Attack!" he barked.

His voice was met in response by many others; shouts went down the line. The various corporals were making it known to their squads that it was time to fight.

When Percy's own corporal screamed the order, he popped out from behind his cover and took aim.

The gang of bandits was greeted by the barrels of over fifty muskets, each one eager to score a kill.

_Crack!_

_Crack! _

_Crack!_

The volley dropped ten of the thugs, instantly wiping out half their forces.

Percy coughed as the smoke from the barrel blew back into his face. He was busily fanning away the noxious cloud when a series of shouts filled the air.

The Corporal yelled at his men, telling everyone to "fuck them up." It was then that Percy realized that the Lieutenant had given the order to charge.

Without a second thought, Percy rushed forward. The shell shocked bandits were extremely disorganized and had no idea what was happening. The unlucky marauders had probably thought that they would lose the riders once they entered the forest, only to find that they had stepped into the maw of the beast.

In the course of a few seconds, Percy was on top them. He used his momentum to knock one of the dazed bandits to the ground, kicking away his weapon, and bringing the buttstock of his musket down on the poor man's face.

Percy smacked the writhing form again and again, blood flying with each strike. He mercilessly beat the man until he heard a sickening crunch and the body ceased moving. By the time the deed was done, Percy's heart was racing and his breathing came out ragged and irregular. Sweat trickled off his forehead and down the sides of his cheeks; his helmet was rattled out of place.

Percy glanced at the damage he'd caused. The man's mutilated face pooled with blood and his hair was clumped in red bundles. The light was gone from his eyes and Percy knew that his soul had left for judgment.

Percy turned to the chaotic scene around him. It seemed as though all of the enemy combatants had been neutralized. His platoon suffered not one casualty – it had been a rout.

Percy looked across the field to the riders casually watching the slaughter. They had stayed back to corral the bandits and run down any who fled the skirmish. Of course they would have the easy job, Percy grumbled to himself. They worked for the Count and were probably of some powerful family.

He turned his attention back to the grisly battle site. Corpses lay strewn about and the wounded groaned as they baked under the heat of the sun, wasting away in pools of their own blood. Percy prayed that he would never end up like that. It must have been a horrible way to go.

Percy watched as some of the platoon members milled about, checking the casualties for any valuable items. One young conscript crouched over a moaning figure, relieving the dying bandit of some very fine boots. Others found expensive looking items like women's jewelry, stopwatches, and smoking pipes. The bandits had probably been thieving for a while.

Percy spotted Mark trying to wrestle a very nice jerkin off of a struggling older man. The guy had been shot in the waist and now had blood flowing from the wound, pooling on the ground in a dark crimson puddle.

"Help me! Help me!" he pleaded to Mark, but the kid wouldn't have it.

Mark unsheathed his stiletto and replied with "Put a sock in it," as he slit the man's throat. Once the jerkin was removed, he smiled to himself and left with his spoils.

After Percy found all of the members of his team alive and well, he went off to report to the Corporal. He instead came across Malcolm observing an interesting scene.

The Corporal was bent over with a bandit's head locked securely in his grip. The Corporal repeatedly smashed his deceased victim's face into the dirt, screaming _"You son of a bitch! You ruined my buff coat!" _

As Percy was busy running the definition of overkill through his mind, the Corporal got up off the ground and walked over to his stunned fireteam leaders. He clutched his side where the bandit had apparently shot him; blood leaked from between his fingers. Percy wondered if they should get him to a surgeon.

"Well?" he growled impatiently. "Don't just stand there looking like a couple of jackasses, give me your reports."

Malcolm was the first to answer.

"Sir, all members of my fireteam are present and accounted for. There were no casualties."

The Corporal then looked to Percy.

"Sir, no casualties on our end," Percy replied.

The Corporal huffed and told the two of them to gather the men, waving Percy off when he inquired about the wound. _"I'll be fine!" _he had said, leaving Percy with no choice but to let him go.

Percy and Malcolm rushed to find their squadmates as the Lieutenant called for the platoon to form up. Once they had all fallen into formation, the platoon headed back for Larissa so that everybody could turn in their gear. The ragtag army of farmers had served its purpose and they were now free to return home.

* * *

**_Long Message_: Please skip this section if you don't care what I have to say.**

Okay, so the scenes you have just witnessed should be a good little bit of foreshadowing as to what to expect in the future. There's gonna be a lot of violence and gore in this story, so to anyone who doesn't like that stuff should probably just stop reading. Yes, there will be some lovey-dovey fluff in between the disturbing battle scenes, but not much. I don't know about you guys, but stories like this keep my attention a hell of a lot better than romances. Realism is definitely the way to go.

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. As some of you can probably tell, every member of Percy's squad comes from the source material and I tried to make their characterizations as accurately as possible. The only OC is that of the Corporal. For the character intros, I had to make up some last names (the source material had none) just in case I decide that the Corporal has to chew them out. Pollux and Malcolm I gave Italian surnames (obviously). I thought giving Butch a Greek name would sound kind weird, so I made a Jew instead. Mark's name was fun to do. The prefix van den means "of the" in Dutch and geweer means "rifle". So that makes him Mark of the Rifle. Make fun of me all you want, but I thought it was pretty clever.

Because not everybody is familiar with military organization, I have provided you with a detailed (and hopefully easy-to-follow) Reference Chart to help you understand the complex system that is the chain of command. The Early Modern armies of the 16th and 17th Centuries began increasing in size and complexity, and represented the early precursor to modern warfare. As you will see from the chart, the command structure is strikingly similar to contemporary armies.

* * *

**A/N: I have more than likely overlooked a grammatical error or have screwed up my research used in the writing of this. Please, if you see anything that looks inaccurate, do not hesitate in pointing it out. The more I learn, the happier I become.  
**

**I have once again I have provided a glossary, and (for those of you who skipped the above message) have also added a Reference Chart to help you figure out the military ranking system.**

**I hope you guys have enjoyed my story and I thank everyone for reading, reviewing, and favoriting it.**

**Have a nice week!**

* * *

**Military Organization****: Quick Reference  
**

**Unit Size (in descending order):** Field Army, Brigade, Regiment, Battalion, Company, Platoon, Squad, Fireteam, Soldier

- a professional soldier in the service of the crown or any other noble, signed a private contract; became known as a "private"

- irregular forces made up of drafted civilians were known as "conscripts"

**Squad**** (10-15 soldiers)  
**

commanded by: a corporal

second-in-command: a lancepesade (precursor to the lance corporal)

**Platoon (3-4 squads)**

commanded by: a lieutenant

assisted by: a sergeant (a non-commissioned officer) or a warrant officer (was not commissioned as an officer by the King, but received a warrant indicating that he was a specialist in some field)

**Company (3-4 platoons)**

- most basic unit of an early modern army, raised by a vassal lord; usually arranged in "pike and shot" formations

commanded by: a captain (the vassal lord)

second-in-command: a lieutenant

specialized officers: the ensign (the company's standard-bearer; precursor to the second lieutenant)

**Battalion (2-3 companies)**

commanded by: a lieutenant colonel (a noble as such commissioned by his lord)

second-in-command: a major

**Regiment (2-3 battalions; generally about 1,000 soldiers)**

- standard unit for infantry organization

commanded by: a colonel

assisting officers: a lieutenant colonel (second-in-command) and a sergeant major (assistant to the colonel; third-in-command)

**Brigade (larger form of regiment; number of battalions varied, generally 4-6)**

- unit of organization with mixed infantry, cavalry, and artillery battalions; early precursor to the modern task force

commanded by: a brigadier general

**Field Army**

- forces assembled by the King before a battle

commanded by: the King himself (rank of captain general; precursor to the general) or a noble commanding in the King's name (the lieutenant general)

assisted by: a sergeant-major general (precursor to the major general)

* * *

**Glossary**

armory: area used to store arms and armor

AWOL: absent without leave

balancing the books: end of the accounting process; making certain that the debit accounts equal the credit accounts

buff coat: leather clothing worn under armor

bull's eye: the center of the target; to score a bull's eye is to shoot the ammunition to where it lands on the center of the target

cabasset: steel, rimmed helmet with a tall crown

chronic: incessant

comb: shaped section on the top side of the weapon stock; used resting one's cheek in order to stare down the barrel

conscript: drafted soldier

cuirass: steel armor used to cover the torso

firing chamber: bottom of the musket barrel; held packed black powder used to propel the musket ball

flash in the pan: situation where the primer ignites, but the propellant in the firing chamber does not; synonymous with "misfire"

flash pan: small pan that held the primer

half-cock/full-cock: describing the positions of the lock where the hammer is either pulled halfway or all the way back; "half-cock" was the weapon's safety position (enough so that the flash pan could be opened, but not so much that the flint would spark if the hammer came down)

infirmary: medical area; in this case, refers to a field hospital

irregular: non-professional combatant, sometimes unmarked with no affiliation to a specific nation

lock: firing mechanism on a musket; consisted of the hammer that held a piece of flint and a steel plate (called "the steel" or a frizzen) with which the hammer struck the flint causing a spark

militia: band of irregular soldiers conscripted from among the civilian population to either fight alongside the National Army or to be used in specific ways, such as guerrilla warfare; can be raised on command by a nation's government or assembled locally

NCO: non-commissioned officer; field officer with no formal commission from the King

pan cover: small piece used to cover the flash pan; kept the primer dry and allowed the user to keep the musket pre-loaded

powder horn: hollowed animal horn or conical leather pouch used to hold black powder

primer: black powder used to start the ignition of the propellant in the firing chamber; connected to the firing chamber via a small hole drilled in the side of the musket barrel

ramrod: steel rod used to pack black powder and shot down the barrel of the musket and into the firing chamber

religious wars: reference to the Thirty Years' War that ravaged continental Europe, consisted of a series of wars between Catholic and Protestant nations; relevant to the story in that the war left many kingdoms in debt

rout: absolute defeat

sad sack: an inept soldier

scuttlebutt: military term for rumors

skirmish: an engagement; a small battle

snaphance: type of lock system that automatically opened the pan cover when the hammer came down; replaced in the mid-17th Century by the cheaper flintlock system

snaplock: type of lock system where the user had to manually remove the pan cover before firing; eventually replaced by the snaphance, was viewed as a crude peasant's weapon

stiletto: a long, slender dagger with a needle-point

stock (buttstock): back end of the musket, behind the trigger

surplus: extra units; in this case, refers to extra weapons

volley: simultaneous firing of muskets

whetstone: a sharpening stone


End file.
